Jurisdiction
by JMK758
Summary: After 'Superheroine Affair', one of Abby's friends is assaulted, and she puts everything on the line to bring the perp to justice, even if she has to defy Gibbs and all of NCIS to do it. Adult themes.
1. Sugar and Spice

Disclaimer: Belisarius Productions owns NCIS. I don't even own Abby. Frack!  
The locations and persons depicted within are entirely fictional. There is no similarity to any person, living or dead.  
Perspective: This story takes place in the later part of the Third Season, a month after 'Superheroine Affair', which also appears in , so there will be some references to it that you may want to familiarize yourself with.  
Rating: T – or NCis-17. Descriptions of violence, autopsy, forensics and frank adult topics.

Jurisdiction  
by JMK758  
Prologue

It had been a good day's hunting, and as he approached through the woods he caught sight of his prey's lair. Moving silently, carefully through the last of the brush, he examined the terrain carefully. The last of the brush ended in a clearing set with a picnic table, raised pool and tool shed. There was a twenty foot circumference laundry wheel, and from the lines hung a festive bouquet of clothing; lacy demi-bras promising a good sized quarry, tiny thong panties, short shorts, halters; a veritable cornucopia of feminine intimates in every color of the spectrum. All spoke of a sensuous indulgence that would make this capture and subjugation all the more satisfying.

There was no male clothing displayed on any of the lines. It was a bright, warm, late morning and the hunter settled in, patiently awaiting his prey. The laundry was already dry.

It took less than a half hour, during which the hunter made and refined his plans, before the back screen door to the cottage opened and closed with a bang.

The woman looked to be about 22. Her long, pale blonde hair fluttered in the gentle breeze. She wore a blue tube top that seemed to be knitted onto her, hugged her generous assets without confining them. The brief, high cut blue denim 'Daisy Dukes' painted onto her hips outlined a captivating prize, and her white sneakers did nothing to distract from her long, tapered legs.

She wore a set of earphones and wiggled to the sensuous beat, providing him with a tantalizing view that almost drove him to take her down right now. But that was no part of his plan. Instead, the earphones muffled his stealthy passage behind her to the unlocked screen door. She removed pins from bras, thongs and tiny dry clothes, placing each item into the large basket she held at her right hip. She never heard the door.

He crossed the screen enclosed blue porch to the inner door. As he let himself in, he found a large kitchen and living room combination only partially broken by a half counter extending from his right. There was a bedroom before him, bathroom immediately to his left and another larger bedroom to his right off the kitchen, reaching behind him the length of the porch beyond the door behind him. Having little time to choose, he ducked into the bathroom at his left, immediately next to the porch door, preparing to spring the trap.

When his prey entered, he would be ready.

x

Dawn Caldwell was lost in the strains of some of her favorite Classical compositions as she worked, turning the drying wheel, using her left hand to gather and unclip her clothing, depositing each piece in the large basket held against her right hip. She had to reach quite far to hold the opposite edge of the wicker basket, nearly too far, but it was actually preferable to leaving it on the ground and dropping the clothes into it.

There were quite a few indulgence pieces on the revolving line. Being here on vacation alone for the first time, she had packed with the intent of 'having a good time'. School was out, and as much as she could it was her chance to indulge her sensual as much as her fun-loving sides, a combination she could not manage from September through June, when she had her image to uphold.

There were quite a few pieces she didn't dare get caught wearing in the city, at least not collectively. Up here in the hills of Virginia, however, she could get away with indulgences. And if those 'indulgences' resulted in her strolling down the road to the beach, or along the streets in any of the surrounding towns, in clothes that were somewhat less than modest - and very eye-catching - so much the better.

Dawn was twenty two, vibrant and vivacious, a lovely blonde with long flowing hair and a figure that could stop traffic, or at least be the cause of considerable rubbernecking and she was on her first real vacation by herself. And if, in any of those strolls, she should encounter someone who inspired her to thoughts her mother wouldn't approve of; well, so much the better. She intended to be ready for anything that might come her way.

Lost in the strains of the 'Blue Danube Waltz', she allowed the rhythm to guide her actions, her left arm working in accord with the music, her body swaying slightly, giving herself over to chords and melody.

When she finished, she turned and started back to the house, still allowing the music to guide her. In her childhood she had dreamed of being a ballerina, but classes had only pointed up that her body persisted in lacking the skill her mind said should have been hers, and ultimately the path of her life had taken her elsewhere. But she never gave up her love of music, or the desire to move with it.

Pulling open the screen door, she entered the enclosed porch, still moving easily to the music. This was her favorite part, where the waltz built to a thrilling crescendo before it would ultimately calm to the final prevalent strains before concluding with a recurrence of the main melody that bore her along with it, and she gave herself over to the music, moving much as she had been taught to long ago, dancing to the music as she pulled open the inner door and entered the kitchen, allowing her eyes to half close as the music carried her along.

x

His left hand clamped tightly over her mouth and his right about her body, trapped her against him. His hand closed with a crush her left breast. Dawn screamed into his hand, a cry of agony and terror as she dropped the basket to the floor and pried uselessly at the strong hand clamped over her mouth!

"You do what I say – _exactly_ what I say!" he demanded over the lovely music, his harsh voice a horrible counterpoint to the beauty. She tried to struggle, tried to scream, panic giving her strength but not enough! "Understand?" He crushed her left breast and she shrieked. She couldn't struggle - agony stopped her! She wore out her breath in muffled screams for help. His left hand came down and his thumb and fingers pressed to the front of her throat. His fingertips pinched her trachea as he yanked her upward and back against him.

She was silenced, couldn't even gag. Not a breath could escape as her; her airway was completely sealed. Terrified, she tried to struggle, tugging desperately, straining to get the slightest bit of air into her empty lungs. She couldn't. She couldn't scream, couldn't call for help, couldn't make a sound!

He squeezed her breast even harder, forcing her confused mind to make her try to stop the pain. She tried to pry his hand from its agonizing grip even as her head swam. She strained for breath but couldn't get the tiniest measure of air past his fingers. She suffocated, silenced, while in her ears the final strains of the 'Blue Danube' built to their thrilling climax in horrible counterpoint to her terror!

By the time she could think to fight the horrible distracting agony in her breast enough to use even one hand again at the fingers pressing her windpipe it was too late. Her vision dimmed, her body started to collapse. He bore her face down to the floor. He lay on top of her. She tried desperately to gasp, to pull his hand away; to free her breast from the agony that distracted her. Her empty lungs seemed to explode in agony from her desperate straining. She fought with all her might to pull air and her vision darkened and blurred. Trapped under his weight, pinned to the floor, the torturous grip on her breast make her want to scream. She strained to gasp even the tiniest draught of air into her starving lungs. Agony became her world as she watched the floor before her go black.

xx

Dawn awoke to utter horror, blackness more terrible than death. She had no idea how long - but she remembered the horror, the pain. Something covered her head, left everything black. It was tied about her throat and left her in the utter blackness of the grave. Her arms were stretched and crossed high over her head, something thick and immobile hurt her forearms, pressed into her flesh with merciless force. Her legs were spread widely, painfully apart. Her wrists and her ankles were tied by something and no matter how hard she strained she couldn't escape it. Something was between her ankles, holding her legs widely, painfully apart. In cheerleading she had done splits but never without preparation; now the muscles in her thighs stabbed painfully under the unprepared strain.

She was on something hard. The floor? Something touched her vagina and terror unleashed in a scream. A heavy body came down upon her. A strong hand clamped hard over her mouth. Something solid and meaty stabbed viciously into her - she shrieked as loudly as she could.

Chapter One  
Sugar and Spice

Leroy Jethro Gibbs looked up from his desk and started to address Agent Tim McGee but found his desk across the bullpen to be quite vacant. He looked to his right to Officer Ziva David, Mossad Liaison worked. "Where's McGee?" It was one shade short of a demand.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I think he's helping Abby in her lab."

The Forensic Scientist had returned two hours ago from a month's vacation, and had charged into Operations an hour later livid as an vampire bat over the changes her temporary substitute had made to her lab. McGee had offered to help her set things to rights before she gave new depth to the term 'ballistic'.

"She's only back two hours from her vacation; how much help could she need?"

Hoping it was a rhetorical question, Ziva tried not to answer.

"Get them both up here."

x

It was only three minutes before the tall Agent returned to the room, followed a moment later by Sciuto.

"Yes, boss? Sorry to be gone so long."

Tim McGee always figured it was better to start off with an apology when the Supervisory Special Agent was in his current mood – even if the man had told him on numerous occasions not to do so; that it was a sign of weakness. This time it was better to seem 'weak' than to risk raising the man's wrath any higher.

He and Abby were a study in contrasts. Tim McGee always seemed to strike that odd balance of stuffy and casual. Today it was tweed jacket with brown tie and slacks. Abby, on the other hand, beneath her white lab coat, was shocking. So 'Goth' she could give East Village New Yorkers lessons, she wore a silver spike studded dog collar, black t-shirt with day-glow red letters proclaiming that 'Vampires are not the only ones who do it in the dark', a pair of spike studded wristbands, a short (_really_ short) leather skirt festooned with silver chains; some strung in curves, a dozen hanging as 6 inch tassels to form a false hem. A pair of black fishnet stockings seemed to reach invitingly upward and black leather boots with soles at least four inches high had her tower over the otherwise taller Agent in front of her.

Gibbs knew she had chosen the fishnet stockings after learning last month about Tim's personal preferences. This morning they seemed to be working.

She hugged each of her friends in turn, but with McGee, when she completed the circle back to him, it couldn't be missed that she lingered for an extra second, her chest pressed to his for a moment even after she 'pulled back'.

"Welcome back." The Supervisory Special Agent addressed her. She was definitely calmer than the whirlwind that had torn through the room earlier, this time he _could _greet her. She had gone on a vacation, a.k.a. 'Medical Rest Leave' following the shocking affair at the Hotel Meritz last month.

"Thanks Gibbs, it's good to be back." But even as she said it, the glint in her eyes gave extra depth to her words.

"I'd expected you would have checked in to me this morning." Her earlier visit had not been a check in.

"I'm sorry, Gibbs. I would have, I really am grateful for everything you did in getting me some rest, but when I got in and saw my Lab I got – distracted."

"Really? What 'distracted' you?" He sent McGee back to his desk with a look, then locked his gaze on Sciuto.

Abby could come up with several answers, all of which were true, but she realized nothing she could say could justify this breach, so she wisely said "Nothing, sir."

"Don't let it happen again, Abby." But even if the words were severe, the tone wasn't so, and he couldn't hide a smile. He may have to reprimand her for a breach, but he was happy to see her.

"I won't, sir."

"Don't call me 'sir'."

"No, Ma' –." He stopped her with a glare she could see was false ever before his expression relaxed into an ultra-rare grin.

"I'm glad you're back."

"Me too."

x

"How was your vacation?" Tony asked.

"Fanfrackingtastic!" she enthused, turning to him. "Cruise down to Palm Beach, then hop a jet to the Bahamas and finish up in Hawaii! Everywhere I went I hooked up with the best Goth clubs. Days on the beaches, nights of mad, passionate, completely uninhibited sex with a different partner every night – it was _fantastic_!"

The others could hear his gulp. For someone who lived for the last of her litany, it was painfully unfair. "Well, I hope you used protection," he barely managed to stammer out the stock line.

"Of _course_," she smirked. "I kept a cat-o-nine-tails under my pillow."

McGee and Ziva almost felt sorry for the man as they watched him envision the sight. "I've got the _tiniest_ tan lines you've ever seen," she continued as enthusiastically as ever.

"I don't know; I've seen some pretty small ones," he countered, refusing to fall into her trap, or at least trying not to. It was clear she had him at a total disadvantage.

"I found this beach where as long as you kept 'certain things' covered, you can wear whatever you want. So I found these appliqués; two little hearts like you put on greeting cards, each about an inch high," as she described them, she indicated with thumbs and forefingers exactly where two one inch-high hearts were placed, "and this great b-string." She lowered her hands and his eyes burned a hole through her microskirt.

"Don't you mean g-string?" he tried to quip. Normally he was the one ready with a quick flirt, but it was quite evident that the image caused him to lose his aplomb. He'd worked with the woman for five years, and had never seen her…

"Nope; b-string. I found this little rubber bat - you know, the kind that hangs from a string on a pole - and attached it with strings off the wing tips and tail. I've got the _greatest_ tan spot! And when I walked, it looked like it was flying out of the batcave!" She barely managed to keep from bursting into laughter as she watched his reaction. "Well, I've gotta run!" she exclaimed with a merry wave and was gone, her boots shuffling along the carpet, Tony unable to tear his eyes off her retreating form.

"Well," Gibbs said, picking up a file, "I've got a meeting with the Director." As he walked out, his hand came out and smacked DiNozzo on the back of his head.

"Ow! What was _that_ for?"

"For letting her get to you," he said as he kept walking, his tiny smile concealing that he had been as entertained as the others had been.

x

When the woman was gone, things returned to normality, at least for a short while. This was an unusual period for the NCIS Agents. The last pressing duty they had had was an embezzling case fairly easily solved, and now much of their attention was focused on monitoring worldwide activities for any terrorist action, a duty which had them researching any number of seemingly unrelated and possibly insignificant clues and events.

The search for Al-Qaeda and other possible threats was on-going and any branch of Defense or Intelligence not actively engaged in pressing matters devoted its 'downtime' to accumulating and sifting data for Homeland Security, NIA or any other forces. Thus, this NCIS team had been researching any number of potential clues, which could run the range from vital and urgent to unlikely, devoting the same diligence to each.

It was a half hour later that DiNozzo spoke up. "Anyone agree this is a waste of time?"

"Nope," McGee countered. "There's always something to be learned, even if it's trivial – now."

"You would be surprised, Tony, how much time is spent in the Mossad doing exactly this." Ziva admonished from her own desk.

"I admit it's important – but I'd rather know what I'm looking for. Just looking for 'anything' gets pretty tedious."

"Use your imagination," Ziva advised.

"Don't tell him that," McGee countered. "Gibbs'll come back and find him scanning ."

"Hey, you never know how many foreign beauties have something. Present company excepted, of course," he concluded, looking at Ziva. She gave him a biting look, miming an actual bite.

"Well, I know what I can do." McGee stood up. "I'll be on 'lunch detail'. What'll you have?"

"I'd tell you to get a Philly cheese steak on rye, but I'd want you to go to Philly for it."

"I'll bring you back a Washington version. How about you, Ziva?"

She stood up, tucking her black t-shirt deeper into her pants. "I'll come with you. I hate ordering without a menu." They both headed toward the elevator.

"Great; what'm I supposed to do 'til you get back?" DiNozzo called. Ziva looked back over her shoulder, favoring him with a smile.

"Stay off 'Playboy'."

x

Tim and Ziva boarded the elevator, the dark haired woman stepping deep into the car. When it had dropped for several seconds, passing the main level, the forensics lab and almost reaching the garage, Tim flicked the 'Emergency Stop' switch.

The car jerked to a halt, the emergency lights came on as main power dimmed. He turned around, his fist closed about the front of the black t-shirt the woman wore and he pulled her forward, turned and backed her into the corner.

She didn't fight his 'attack' and an instant later his lips were on hers, silencing any 'protest' she might have made. His hands sought her body through her clothing and her own hands began an equally passionate search.

Far from thinking about resisting, this was the 'lunch' she had been hoping for when she'd decided to accompany him.

Ever since the end of their last big case at the Hotel Meritz they had grown very close. This catching of a private moment served to take some of the edge off their passion until they could reach one of their apartments for more leisurely lovemaking. For now their 'secret encounters' made up in fiery ardor what they lacked in time.

It was wrong, it was illicit, it could get them either reprimanded or worse - and that added extra spice to the act.

McGee tugged Ziva's shirt, pulled it out of her pants even as their kiss broke and his lips attacked her neck, making her cry out. His hands slipped under her black shirt and closed gently over her firm bare breasts, his fingertips teasing her already hard nipples as she tugged the zipper of his pants, her smaller hand slipping into the opening thus provided. Her breaths were tiny cries of lust that increased sharply as his hands explored her heating body.

He pushed her shirt up, bared her breasts and his lips slipped down to her left nipple, gently licking and sucking the sensitive nub as she clamped her lips shut for fear of screaming out her pleasure. But she couldn't keep silent long, her fervent cries filled the car as her hand closed and moved along his hardened shaft.

His other hand pulled open the latch of her pants, tugged her zipper down and slipped in to touch her, pushing her pants off her hips. She shifted upward, inviting him to reach her. When his fingers brushed along her labia, even through her panties, feeling her moistening heat she screamed into her covering hand, her free hand yanking at his clothes as he continued licking and sucking on her left nipple while his other hand stroked her right breast, squeezing it gently, thrillingly–

The car shook sharply and the lights came up. They started to ascend.

"Tim!" Ziva gasped. "We're moving!"

He pulled away from her. "Someone must have used the override." The car was already passing the lobby level, heading for Operations.

Frantically they rushed to repair their clothing, zipping and pulling and yanking into place, working as fast as they could as the car passed the Operations level. It seemed too short a time but they managed to finish. They assumed a 'casual' posture and stood about a meter apart facing the door in a bored attitude an instant before the doors parted.

x

Leroy Jethro Gibbs stepped into the car, turned and stood between them. Both tried to act as casually as they could as he pushed the button for Operations. Their own selection of Garage was still lit. Ziva glanced down for an instant, and was mortified to see her t-shirt was wrinkled where McGee had gripped the material at the start of his 'attack'. It was true that her high firm breasts would eventually smooth the tight material, but they had not done so yet. The shirt was pushed forward, tipped with the tiny telltale projections of her hard nipples. She glanced past Gibbs at Tim and noticed his color was as high as hers probably was. She prayed desperately that Gibbs would not have noticed. They would be together for only ten seconds.

"On lunch detail?" Gibbs asked as the doors closed.

"Yes, sir, boss," Tim answered.

"Good, I'll have a ham on white with American and mustard, and a large coffee."

"You got it."

He hadn't noticed anything amiss. They were actually going to get away unscathed! Then she remembered that the elevator had resumed its operation because the 'override' switch had been engaged.

The car stopped on their floor, the doors slid apart and Gibbs stepped forward. As he did, both hands came up and slapped them in the backs of their heads. He didn't slow as he headed toward his desk. The doors slid shut again.

Tim and Ziva looked at one another, chagrined, as the car started to descend. "It was worth it," Ziva declared with a salacious grin.

"Yep."


	2. A Plea for Help

Chapter Two

A Plea for Help

Abigail Sciuto returned to her lab, looking about the half-underground room. The laughter that had sustained her after she'd left Operations had vanished after a chance meeting took its toll. Now she was not happy. She was not happy at all.

Palm Beach had been wondrous, the Bahamas had been enchanting and Hawaii had been a slice of Heaven. If you're going to be forced away from work for an imposed vacation, all of which at NCIS expense, she couldn't have asked for a better itinerary. But she didn't know that while she was gone her lab was going to be turned into a shambles.

Actually, 'shambles' was a bit too strong a word. Her temporary replacement, recommended by Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard, had been an admittedly competent scientist. All right, he'd been a good one, but he had had his own ideas about where things should be kept. Abby had her ideas, and they were not _his_.

Consequently she couldn't find anything! She had worked for about an hour, getting madder by the moment, until finally she had stormed into the Squad Room to blow off some steam. Tim McGee, bless his little pea-picking heart, had volunteered to help her sort out the chaos, which had mollified her somewhat – until he stepped into the lab and couldn't find anything wrong with it.

Well, she supposed that he couldn't. The 'lab qua lab' was immaculate, neat and orderly. It was not the 'shambles' she had declared it to be, at least not to the unpracticed eye of a layman. It was just that nothing was where it belonged.

She supposed that if she had reworked the circuit board of some computer to her own theories about how circuits should be laid out, he would understand how she felt. But at least he was nice enough to help, even if he had to ask her at every turn where something belonged.

Then had come the summons from Gibbs, and she'd enjoyed driving Tony DiNozzo out of his sex-obsessed little mind.

Everything was going fine; she was still riding a high after torpedoing Tony DiNozzo – until she had run into Jimmy Palmer on the way to her lab. Encountering the young man wasn't unpleasant, far from it. She really liked him and enjoyed his company – until he had said something that took her joy away.

He had been bringing her up to date on what she had missed over the past month, but in the course of it he let slip the sudden relationship between McGee and Ziva David that had brewed while she was gone. Brewed? It had been steeping, despite her best efforts to compete while she had been there, and in the past month it had boiled over!

x

Abby was beyond frustrated, beyond furious. _She_ was the one Tim was interested in, if only he would get his nose out of a computer monitor long enough to realize it! She had worked for months – _months_ – to get back to him! Admittedly, though, she had only herself to blame for its cooling.

Their relationship had started out hot. She'd known what she wanted and had gone for it, often moving faster than the man was ready for. Though things had been rocky at times, the good times had more than made up for that. It may not have been perfect – they'd had their share of fights – but it _had _been spectacular.

For a while it had cooled, mostly through her own desire to avoid the 'commitment' he had been ready for (how's _that _for irony?) but she never gave up, coming back in sometimes unexpected 'sneak attacks' upon his heart as well as his libido.

He'd grown more distant, more uncertain how to handle the 'Mysterious of the Dark', but once she made up her mind that the cooling had been a mistake, she'd set about trying to restore their relationship. She never gave up. She was determined to crack his wall, no matter how she had to do it.

When she had been in 'protective custody' in his apartment, she had removed her pants and opened her blouse in front of him and walked about in a small tight t-shirt and very tiny panties with skeletal decorations that practically _screamed_ 'Jump my bones'. She'd told him to forget the sleeping bag he'd wanted, that they were adults and could share the same bed; had all but _invited_ him to tie her up and have his way with her and he _still_ didn't make his move!

And now, seemingly seconds after she had been removed from the playing field, that dark tramp with her exotic accent and mysterious ways had made hers!

Well, it was not over yet, not by a damned inch! Ziva David might have drawn first blood, but the war was just _beginning_ and she had too much at stake to give up. She was not _going_ to give up! Granted, she had lost ground, but she knew Tim longer, knew him better, and all Ziva had done was to up the ante. She may have drawn first blood, but the next one to bleed would be–

x

Her mental rant was cut short by the ringing of her phone. She snatched it up, halted herself in mid-breath from snapping in outrage at the unknown caller. "NCIS; Forensics,"she said with false smile and fake good spirits, heard the familiar voice at the other end of the line, and her 'good' mood instantly became real.

"_Hi_, Dawn!" Her anger was gone. "How _are_ you, 'Sunshine'?" She used the nickname she'd attached to the younger girl years ago.

Her smile was smacked away. "You're _where_?" she demanded, chilled at the horribly strained voice. She didn't know what was wrong, but her friend sounded a hair short of breaking into tears.

//Laughton Memorial, up the Interstate from Clarkston Lakes. The Doctor asked if I had any relatives. I - I didn't know who else to call.//

Clarkston was a private vacation community eighty miles from Washington, in the sparse hills of Virginia.

"What happened?" Abby pictured a car accident, a fall, some kind of injury. The answer, choked out in a broken sob, froze her heart. "I'll be right there!"

xxx

It was just before eleven when Abby pulled her black convertible into the parking lot of Laughton Hospital and found a vacant space near the entrance. Checking to make sure that her NCIS Identification and her ID as a Forensic Scientist were ready for display in her wallet, she pulled the silver studded dog collar from about her throat. It was one thing to indulge the Goth image at work; quite another if she was going to slip unnoticed into a rural hospital. Of course, nothing could be done for her clothes. She'd jumped into her car less than three minutes after hanging up the phone, but kept her white lab coat on, making what concession she could.

Getting out of her convertible, leaving the top down, she hurried to the entrance. Crime was virtually non-existent here compared to Washington, and she had long ago made the adjustment to a trusting lifestyle when she was up here.

Laughton was built on one of the few hills of Virginia, and the Hospital was on one of the highest. All about her was the vast expanse of blue sky, the few white puffs of clouds seeming more decorative than anything else. The other surrounding hills were lower, so the green view extended for dozens of miles in all directions. But all Abby was interested in was the complex of brown, white and blue buildings across the large parking lot.

As the outer and inner doors slid aside, she glanced about. To her left a Gift Shop displayed all sorts of bright and happy wares that visiting relatives and friends could bring to cheer sick loved ones. But her attention was fixed on the desk across the lobby from her, and the two elderly women seated at it. Both wore peach colored smocks with white ID tags that identified them as 'Volunteers'.

Abby strode up to the desk, noting the looks of brief apprehension on the women's faces. She still wore, under her white lab coat, the Goth fashions which worked well enough at NCIS HQ but which were out of place here. No matter. She buttoned her white smock and plastered on her most affable smile. "Hi," she greeted them expansively, "I'm here to see Miss Dawn Caldwell." She spelled the name. The woman on her left punched 'Ca' on her computer.

"I'm sorry, dear, we don't have a 'Dawn Caldwell' listed."

"She called me less than an hour ago," Abby explained patiently.

"She might be in 'Emergency'? We wouldn't have a listing unless she's Admitted. You can try there," she pointed to Abby's right. "Down the corridor, first right, then left."

"Thank you." Abby followed the directions in a brisk walk.

x

She was no stranger to Emergency Rooms, and this one was no different from any other. She scanned the room, noting the organized layout. Unlike a major metropolitan hospital, this one was not stuffed full with cases, and in one of the alcoves, curtain drawn back, she found above a light blue blanket a familiar face.

Actually, it was a very unfamiliar face, and seeing it stopped Abby in her tracks. The face was that of someone who had tuned everything out, a face that had the life washed out of. Dawn's face was a mask, that of someone trying to withdraw from life. Her long blonde hair hung over the side of the bed, but it was disheveled, an indicator of the girl's condition.

Crossing the room, Abby noted with mounting distress her friend's condition. She didn't seem close to tears, or anything else for that matter. She lay staring up at the ceiling, seemingly oblivious to everything around her. In the time since she had called for help, over an hour ago, she'd seemingly withdrawn from the nightmare scene around her.

"Hi, 'Sunshine'," Abby said softly as she entered the alcove, keeping a smile that was half-encouraging, half-cheery plastered on her face. Her white lab coat had been a God-send, no one had looked twice to challenge her as she'd cut across the outer room.

The younger woman looked up at her, moving only her eyes. "Abby?" Her voice was distant, surprised, as though she had forgotten she'd called.

"Hey, you hang on there. Everything's gonna be all right." She tried to project reassurance with her soft tones, but first she had to make herself believe it. Looking down at the younger woman lying on the gurney, her expression lost and forlorn, she had her doubts.

"He … he …."

"I know, honey. But you hold tight," she told her friend firmly, reaching under the blue blanket to take her hand, "Abby's here." Something in her tone, perhaps the iron firmness, broke through to that core of her friend's personality, and enabled her to grasp it again.

"He raped me," she said in a voice still bereft of tone. "He taped my wrists to the table and taped my ankles to a broom handle and he…." Her words were distant, and Abby hardly needed Ducky to tell her Dawn was in shock.

"I know, sweetie," Abby said, stroking her cheek. "Hang on, we'll get through this."

x

"Excuse me." A soft voice spoke from beside Abby. She turned and saw a blonde woman wearing a blue smock and a carefully practiced smile. "Who are you?"

'Camouflage shields down,' Abby thought, though the woman didn't seem distressed. Abby undid the buttons on her white coat. "Dawn called me."

"Are you a relative?" the woman asked solicitously - and dubiously.

With her black pigtails, day-glow black shirt announcing the proclivities of vampires and black micro-skirt festooned with safety pins and silver chains including a dozen hanging 6 inches below the hem, all over black fishnet stockings, she could see how it was a valid question. She certainly wasn't a doctor.

"I guess I'm the closest family she has here," Abby told her. "How is she?"

It was Dawn who answered. "Not as big a fibber as you." As Abby looked down, half affronted, Dawn addressed the nurse with a strained smile. "The Sciutos lived down the street from us in Jefferson Parish. Abby used to baby-sit me when I was seven and she was eleven."

"Yes, dear," Abby said, patting her shoulder, "the start of a beautiful friendship." She pulled out her wallet, displaying her badge and ID. "Abby Sciuto, Forensic Scientist, NCIS."

"I wasn't questioning you," the woman assured her. "Actually I'm glad you're here. She refuses to let anyone examine her. We've called for Dr. Cohen; she's had the necessary training in rape trauma and evidence gathering. She'll be in soon. We'd like to get her into Fast Track, but she said you were the only Doctor she wanted."

"Well, I'm not exactly a _Doctor_; I'm a Forensic Scientist. I mean I can _help_, but…" she stopped, realizing any further protests would only work against her. She looked down at her friend, shaking her head. "A _year _since I've seen you, and it's not a call to go Clubbing."

xx

Abby was worried. The blonde woman on the bed before her was calm, speaking with a false smile in a lifeless caricature of her real persona. She seemed not to be present in the room with them as events happened around her, and when she spoke it was as though she was an actress trying to play the role of Dawn Caldwell, a role she barely knew.

She couldn't mistake her friend was in shock, but how was she to help combat it?

x

The hospital had a 'rape kit' for the collection of evidence, and more importantly someone trained in using it. Dr. Cohen was a slight old woman who projected the air that she knew her job and Abby stood aside to let her do it. The curtained alcove room was barely large enough for three people even with one seated upon the bed. Abby was perturbed by the lack of a 'Patient Advocate'; there was no one to provide such a role so she decided it fell to her. Knowing herself to be untrained and unqualified, she admitted she'd probably make a hundred mistakes.

But in reality her role was to support her old friend during what was an invasive and intimate procedure. She kept out of the way, held Dawn's hand when she could and was a supporting presence, answering questions when Dawn could not.

Those questions Dawn could answer were answered in a monotone, the actress still playing the role she was ill-equipped for. She didn't know the lines or pacing, didn't have the personality or characterization, couldn't get the motivation. The real Dawn Caldwell was hiding behind a wall, as though afraid to come out and risk being hurt again.

Clothed in a blue smock which obscured a collection of bruises and abrasions, the clothing she had worn is bagged, sealed and labeled. Even though it wasn't the clothing she had worn when attacked, it might yield potential evidence. Dawn was barely able to convey the horrific details of her experience. She managed a broken, disjointed account, but to Abby it painted an all-too-clear picture.

The assailant had grabbed her from behind and choked her into unconsciousness. He'd then bound her wrists and ankles with tape and put a black bag over her head. The rape itself was horrific enough, but he'd gone the extra cruel step of biting both her breasts, inflicting deep abrasions. The last thing he'd done had been to soak and roughly scour onto her breasts a foul smelling liquid Abby recognized by scent alone – a combination of bleach and ammonia. She bit her tongue to keep from cursing. The harsh chemicals had broken down his DNA, rendering tests useless.

Dawn only allowed a momentary glimpse of her high, firm breasts, and Abby was not in a position to see her. When Dawn covered herself again, Abby knew she would have to get a better look later if she was going to gather any evidence of her own.

The fact that the assailant had worn a condom wasn't completely surprising, as this too would render DNA sampling difficult. Not impossible, but difficult. Abby did her best to keep angry thoughts to herself.

They weren't dealing with a stupid assailant.

But looking at her friend sitting so broken and forlorn, huddled in her blue blanket, Abby swore she was going to catch this bastard.

She would make him _pay_.

xx

Abby tried to balance her friend's anxieties. Dawn had cringed with an almost child-like squeamishness at the vaginal exam and there was still little of the 'Sunshine' that Abby had known for so many years. But each few minutes, she saw more of her friend emerging - right up to the point when the Virginia State Troopers arrived.

From there, all Abby's efforts were hopelessly overwhelmed. A more unsympathetic pair, desperately in need of 'Sensitivity Training', she had never met. She couldn't keep from classifying them as Officers 'Hootie' and 'Blowfish'. By the time they got around to asking if Dawn wanted to press charges _if_ the 'perp' could be caught, Dawn only wanted to get out of the hospital and forget the whole thing!

Abby tried for balance, but her friend had been driven to the point where all she could think of was escape. The evidence, so painstakingly collected, was abandoned when she declined to file a complaint, and by the time the Troopers left to resume their interrupted patrol, Dawn was a wreck.

Maggie Cohen was almost as livid as Abby, but there was nothing that could be done in the face of Dawn's refusal to stay. Shaking her head in frustration, the woman left – so angry she 'forgot' to properly dispose of the collected specimen evidence, an omission that didn't fool the Forensic Scientist for a moment.

By the time the doctor returned to the alcove five minutes later the two younger women were gone, as were the Evidence bags.


	3. Sanctuary

Chapter Three

Sanctuary

Abby Sciuto drove her black convertible at a sedate thirty five along the winding black roads up and down the multitude of hills that most closely resembled a convulsed snake with a broken back. The forest road would eventually wind them back to Clarkston Lakes. The top was down and the wind had no effect upon Abby's twin pigtails but obliged Dawn to hold her long blonde hair in her left hand. Granted that the Interstate would be faster, and she would spend less time driving with the glare of the sun in her eyes, but she wanted to talk to her friend, try to calm her. She hoped that the farms and rustic surroundings would soothe the younger woman.

'Yeah, right,' she thought bitterly, 'a country drive is going to counteract rape, being examined inside and out, then getting raped _again_ by two Neanderthals with badges.' "Dawn, honey?"

The woman shook her head miserably, drowned in morose defeat. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm sorry I got you involved. I shouldn't have made you come all this way. I shouldn't have _bothered_ you with this. I'm sorry."

Abby stamped her foot on the brake so hard the convertible fishtailed with a screech of rubber. Dawn would have gone face first into the glove compartment had her safety belt not dug into her body, then threw her backward into the cushioned seat.

Shocked, she turned and recoiled fearfully at the incandescent fury on the face of her erstwhile baby-sitter.

"Get this straight right now, Sunshine! You've _nothing_ to apologize for! What that _Bastard_ did to you is _his_ crime, not _yours_ – and I'm going to see that he _pays_! And if you ever so much as _think_ that you're responsible for _any_ of this, or that you shouldn't have called me for help, I'll slap every tooth out of your mouth!"

Dawn stared at her old friend, not knowing what to say or do. The incongruity of the threat would have been funny, but she was too overwhelmed by everything that had happened to her. The Goth woman was a trusted friend but in this moment frightened her with the depth of her outrage – and her love. She didn't know what to do.

Then the wellspring of pent-up emotions broke. Hours that felt like years of pain, misery and humiliation had choked her emotions until she could only feel nothingness press upon her. Now that wall was broken.

She began to cry.

x

Abby waited quietly as Dawn's crying turned to sobs, and then to full blown wails of misery and pain, until everything she'd endured came out of her in a torrent of emotion that wracked her body with brutal force. She knew she could have offered comfort; she wanted to slide across the seat and take her weeping friend in her arms. She would - but only after catharsis had left the woman depleted of all her despair and torment. Then it would be time for comforting.

She waited.

Dawn's misery built upon itself, fueled by mounting anger until, consumed by rage, she started pounding her fists upon the metal covering above the glove compartment as though to drive dents into the metal, wails of heart-wrenching misery becoming shrieks of insensate fury.

Ultimately, unable to sustain them any longer, the tears and fury faded and she collapsed back into the seat, utterly spent. Only then did Abby slide across the seat, draw her friend close.

There was no need or room for words. Abby simply held her as Dawn, her strength spent, clung to her. It was several minutes before she released her and Abby drew back. Her friend's eyes were red, wet from tears, but she had no words that could convey her feelings, and Abby knew better than to seek any. She silently slid back to her seat and restarted the car.

xx

Dawn was silent for a long time, keeping her eyes turned to the passing countryside. There were twenty miles to go along these back roads and she remained utterly silent. Abby realized Dawn wasn't looking at the countryside; she was avoiding looking at her. Her humiliation and embarrassment filled the car to overflowing.

Finally Abby reached out, turning on the radio. The jarring sounds of her favorite station filled the open convertible, but she turned the dial, seeking another station, slowing the car to a crawl while she did so. She had difficulty finding something suitable, most of her favorite stations were barely in range in these hills and would probably be too jarring right now. So as she searched, keeping her eyes carefully on the ever-twisting road, it finally attracted Dawn's attention. The younger woman suggested a station, and when Abby tuned it in, haunting piano music formed a much more relaxing melody. She listened for a few seconds. "Holst?"

Dawn nodded. "The Planets. This one is 'Venus, the Bringer of Peace'."

As far as Abby was concerned, there couldn't have been a more felicitous choice. She had been hoping to find something to draw her friend out, and when she resumed driving she kept to a slow pace that matched the music, letting the world flow by. When Venus gave way to another piece, she asked her friend the title after just ten notes. "Granados's 'The Beauty and the Nightingale'." This one was an equally relaxing violin piece with faint piano background. Though she knew the name, she decided while listening to it that she would ask about the next one in five.

Though she also knew this one, Dawn had absolutely no trouble identifying Bach's 'Double Violin Concerto in D Minor; Second Movement'.

This was an old contest between them that rarely had a winner. Abby decided to keep it going as long as it kept Dawn talking, however brief those times might be.

xx

The gated entrance to Clarkston Lakes consisted of a single guard house barely large enough for two persons to stand together, occupied by a uniformed Security Officer. To the right and behind her now was a small rise on which stood a bungalow containing the Administrative Offices for the CLPOA, the Clarkston Lakes Property Owner's Association.

There was a sign attached to the guard house that contained a list of rules, and beyond the guardhouse was a single row of trees through which could be seen the northern edge of the main lake.

Everything was as Abby remembered it from vacation weekends down through the years. It seemed as though nothing in the community had changed, and she was glad of it. It seemed to bring a certain measure of stability that was desperately needed at this moment. She wondered if Dawn felt any of it.

A blue uniformed Security Officer had stepped out of the guardhouse when he heard, then saw, the uncovered black convertible approaching. But when he saw Dawn seated in the passenger seat he simply waved the car though unchecked.

"Great 'security' you have here," Abby quipped as they passed through, turned left and started along the main road that circled the larger of two connected lakes. The irregular path circumnavigated the two and a half mile 'circumference' of the freshwater lake. As far as she could tell, nothing at all _had_ changed.

"Normally it's good." Dawn admitted with a voice billions of miles away. "They patrol. But I've been coming here for fifteen years with mom and dad. Pete's known me since forever."

"Where are Sam and Tina?" This was the first visit she had known the young woman to come up from Louisiana alone. Abby usually tried to visit at least one weekend each summer, while her friends were 'in range'. It was strange not to have the whole family present.

"The store's not doing so well since they opened a 'K-mart' down the block. They can't get away. This is the first Summer I've come up alone."

"I know. It seems kind of strange not seeing them."

"I wish they were here," she said forlornly.

Rachmaninov's 'Piano Concerto 2 in C Minor, Opus 18, Second Movement' wasn't enough to raise Dawn's spirits again.

x

They rode in silence for a short time, just listening, the identification contest abandoned. They were too equally matched.

The single paved road skirted left and right past the houses whose rear yards hugged the shore. Eventually they paused at the white beach on the eastern shore, enjoying for a moment the familiar wide vista. Across the lake was another beach. There were few homes on the lakefront that weren't obscured by trees that reached into the hills beyond.

There were many people on both beaches lazily escaping the limited heat of the mountains. At a half-mile elevation it was only 70 degrees, but one could not tell that for crowds. Mostly there were young families, children playing with the wild abandon while mothers and an occasional father watched over them while engaging in their own conversations. There was a single white lifeguard seat on each opposing beach, the structures barely 7 feet high, set just beyond the edge of the lawn, which was itself spotted with picnic tables, swings, a slide and teeter-totters.

"They had barbeques last week on the fourth," Dawn said a little less distantly than she had been speaking earlier, the pleasant memory seeming to lift her momentarily. "After sundown they set off fireworks, alternating them so you didn't have to divide your attention. Some houses along the shores had their own, sort of a backdrop to the real thing. Someone had a radio playing patriotic music. It was a nice day."

"Sounds nice," Abby agreed, remembering her visits to this beach.

"What did you do?"

"I was on a beach too, in Hawaii. I met a great guy there."

"You did?" This was the first time she had shown real interest.

"Yeah. Afterwards I went with him to his hotel room and we had some _real_ fireworks!"

Dawn laughed. It was the first time Abby had heard her laugh in a long time. "Same old 'irrepressible Abby'. Don't you ever quit?"

"What, enjoying life? _Never._"

x

They turned left along the road which climbed upward, ascending one of the hills that surrounded the man-made lake, climbing for three 'blocks' before turning to the right. They traveled past more woods and turned right again into the wide recessed driveway facing a single story blue bungalow. The front door, as well as the trim about the windows, was white; adding a counterpoint that could only be described as 'quaint'.

There was a green Impala parked next to them, with markings in the rear designating it a local Hertz rental.

Abby turned off the radio, unlocked her door, pushed it open, turned to Dawn and stopped dead. "Sunshine?"

The younger blonde woman was rigid as a statue, her eyes held locked on the house. Utter terror marred her eyes and her breath was caught in her throat.

"Dawnie, talk to me."

"I – I –." Dawn could force no more of her tiny voice through strangled throat.

"What's wrong?" Abby was certain she knew the answer even before her friend forced herself to whisper in a reedy voice.

"I can't go _in_ there!"

x

Watching her friend's terror mount, Abby didn't try to assure her that everything was fine, that she was safe nor use any other empty platitude that flashed through her mind. Instead she pulled the door closed again and asked in as calm and non-compelling a voice as possible: "Then what will you do?"

Dawn turned to her, naked pleading in her eyes even as she struggled to avoid asking what she was thinking, not wanting to give in to the terror, not wanting to seem weak, but unable to face the thought of ever entering that house again! She didn't want to ask what she most wanted to plead for.

Abby held out her hand. "Gimme the keys."

"The what?" She wanted to pretend it wasn't happening, that she didn't know what her friend was saying.

"The keys, dingbat. I'll pack you an overnight bag; you're spending the night with me. I hope you like the couch, cause there's no way we'll both fit into my bed."

Since Dawn had never visited her home 'up north', there was no way for the younger woman to know how true this was. Abby slept in a slightly larger than usual silver deluxe coffin; having long maintained that when she went, she wanted to do so in familiar surroundings.

She doubted her friend was ready for the sight.

xxx

It was nearly two hours later that Abby parked her black convertible across the street from her apartment house and pushed the button which reset the roof into place. When she had come out of the bungalow, she'd found Dawn huddled into the front seat, hiding her face, hiding from that house. She hadn't said a word about it.

She led Dawn into her four story walkup and wondered again if her younger friend was ready for the whole show. She lived in the middle level of three apartments and though much was conservative, an equal measure of her décor gave new depth to outré.

Dawn had become used, on the occasional weekend in the summers that they got together over the years, to the Goth fashions and the tattoos that decorated her body. But not even her closest associates and friends at NCIS, with the exception of Gibbs and McGee, had ever seen the whole picture. Tim had not only seen the full Sciuto experience, but in their early days together he had _experienced_ considerably more.

Pushing open the door, the pale blue overnight bag in her hand, she advised her friend with a cryptic grin: "Don't touch anything – it might bite."

When Dawn stepped into Abby's living room, she stopped dead, mouth hanging open. Abby turned to her with a smile, putting down the bag. "So, what da ya think?"

x

The apartment was black.

The walls were black, the carpet was black, the furniture was black, though the deep tones of the black leather couch set between two black draped windows compensated for the highly polished black wood of the large table and chairs set in the middle of the room. The television was black, the entertainment center was black; the paintings on the wall would have constituted the few spots of color in the room save that they were done on black velvet.

There were also several huge, super-magnified images; blown up pictures that seemed to defy imagination. They looked like modern impressionistic art. They were actually super enlargements of forensic images that had once graced her lab before they had given way to even more outrageous imagery. Set on black walls amid black furnishings, the bursts of color were absolutely startling.

The black framed posters on the walls were from various Hammer Horror movies. There were several African masks hanging from pegs, and on the mantle were dolls that looked incredibly lifelike. The dolls were Vaudun, what the casual observer might call 'voodoo'.

There was a large standalone bookcase that divided the room; this was filled with records, books and a radio. Dawn doubted it was tuned to the local Classical station.

"I … I don't …."

"Really grabs you, doesn't it?" she asked, pleased and proud.

"By the _throat_." It took Dawn a few more moments to find her voice, and to lower it down from the high pitched gasp it had become. "Abby, what _is_ all this?"

"Well, I might call it 'the dark reflection of my tortured soul', except I'm not tortured, and its all kind of fun."

"Fun?" Dawn looked about again, searching for the fun.

"Quite a way from when I used to baby-sit you." Abby granted, referring to her family's home in Jefferson Parish, Louisiana.

"Quite a way," Dawn admitted in a small voice.

"Yeah. Whoever thought I'd be doing it again?"

x

Seeing the stricken look in Dawn's eyes, she regretted her teasing, and decided to push past it quickly. "You'll be sleeping here," she indicated the black leather couch; then looked at the window to her left. "I doubt the light will keep you up." Though there were three windows in the room, the light that was admitted through the heavy blackout curtains, now fortunately open, would be nil.

"I doubt I'll ever see the light again," Dawn answered, unable to imagine the depth of darkness this room could attain. "The bedroom's not black, is it?"

"Certainly _not_! What do you take me for?"

"Well, I–"

"_Off_ black." She smiled at Dawn's unguarded reaction. "Well, I've gotta get back to work. They don't even really know I'm gone." She picked up the blue overnight bag as Dawn looked at her watch.

It had been five hours since the call; it was after four now. Dawn refrained from pointing this out as Abby tossed her the bag and she caught it. "You can stow your gear in the bedroom and get comfortable until I get back. No one knows you're here, so you can relax. I want to get started working on those samples we took from the E.R. Oh! I almost forgot; stupid of me!"

She went over to the bookcase that split the room and pulled from one shelf a large camera, turning back to her friend. "I want to look at your breasts."

x

Dawn gaped at her, unable to believe she had heard Abby correctly. "You know," she said when she found her voice, "I usually make guys buy me dinner, or at least a couple of drinks first."

Abby let the camera drop to her side, exasperated. "Not like _that_, dingbat. I need to get shots of those bite marks, measurements of width and bite radius." From a black Doctor's bag on the shelf beside her she pulled a measuring square, a right angle bit of white plastic marked off in millimeters on each six centimeter leg. Looking back at the blonde beauty, she pantomimed opening her blouse. "Come on, the faster we get this done, the quicker it's all over."

"Well…" Dawn answered very reluctantly. "I guess so." She slowly opened her blouse and pulled the material aside, uncovering her breasts. Each bore the livid marks of bites upon them, and as Dawn saw the damage to her otherwise pristine flesh, she cringed.

Abby, seeing it for the first time, stepped closer, forgetting the camera at her side. "_Damn_."

x

The marks of teeth were still red on the young woman's breasts, driven into her firm flesh with merciless force, but there was something very odd about the pattern. The front teeth, both upper and lower, were straight and undistinguished, but there were four tooth marks at the front sides, two upper and two lower, that were circles rather than horizontal dental impressions. The circles, clearly visible, were hollow marks a little less than an eighth of an inch in diameter.

Breaking herself away from the image, Abby gave Dawn the plastic try square and had her position the 'upper' leg along the top of the upper jaw line, the other leg measuring the distance to the lower jaw. She stepped back, adjusted the focus and took the first picture. Dawn looked away, momentarily blinded by the flash.

"If these turn up on the Internet, I'm gonna kill you," Dawn quipped, trying to lose the humiliation and anxiety she felt in meaningless banter.

"Don't worry, these won't show your face. I'm only interested in your boobs," Abby retorted, having Dawn hold the square in a new position.

"If mom and dad had known that about you, you'd _never_ have baby-sat me all those years ago."

Abby lowered the camera in mock exasperation, but restrained herself from answering.

x

Finally the ordeal was over, and Dawn could cover up. It had, at least, not been the humiliating experience the hospital had been, even if the marks of her shame were now on permanent digital record. She trusted her friend more than she did many others, and that alone made the difference.

"Abby?"

"What?"

Dawn barely knew what to say. "Thank you. I – I'm glad I…" She could barely think of the words, so Abby smiled.

"Don't thank me yet. You're not Navy, so I'm going to be doing this on my own time. Don't thank me until you get my bill." Dawn still looked like she wanted so say more, so Abby didn't give her the chance. "Come on, don't get all sentimental. Bedroom's down that way, stow your gear. Bathroom's over there; that's the kitchen. There's junk in the fridge. It's after four, and I've got to get started on this or it'll be an all-nighter. I'll see you in a few hours."

"Okay, 'Vampirstein'."

x

Normally Abby disliked that nickname from High School and College days, but when Dawn said it there was an affection in it that had frequently been lacking. "I'll bring you back some Chinese. What do you want?"

"Garrett Wang."

"Beat it, Voyager Trekkie, he's too old for you."

She giggled and went to the indicated corridor, grateful for the normalizing influence of her friend's manner, opened the door, reached in and found the light switch, clicked it on. When she beheld the contents of the room she dropped the overnight bag at her feet.

Before her, set upon a low stand and surrounded by several black dressers, was an open silver coffin! It was lined in white silk, and it gleamed in the bright light. "Abby?" she called in a tiny voice.

"Yeah?"

Dawn Caldwell whirled on her friend, and all the madness she had been through today found its voice in: "_You call that a __**bed**_?"

xxx

Leroy Jethro Gibbs turned the ignition key in his car at precisely 2100 hours, not overly late for him though everyone else had left four hours ago. He pulled out of his space in the underground garage and drove up the ramp to the rear exit at his customary headlong pace. He turned the corner, went around the building and braked to a halt when he saw the lights on in Abby's lab. The windows, high near the ceiling on the inside, were only a foot above the sidewalk, partially obscured by bushes. He thought it highly unusual for the scientist to be making a late night of it on her first day back from vacation, particularly when he knew there was no pressing caseload.

Parking the car, he reentered the building and descended to the lower level, passing through a short corridor and into the Forensics lab.

On the way, he passed the spot where the deepened green of tiles marked the former location of the 'Caf-Pow!' machine, whose insidious beverage had sparked Abby's near breakdown and enforced 'vacation'. At Ducky's and his insistence it had been removed, and Gibbs knew that whatever was prompting Abby's late evening burst of energy was not 'Caf-Pow!'.

Striding into the lab, he found her hard at work, every piece of forensic machinery working. The centrifuge was separating some chemical samples, the AFIS computer was scanning hundreds of samples per minute, searching for a match for an impressive twenty selected points of distinction on a displayed sample, while a DNA analysis was running on the Electrophoresis machine; all without an existing NCIS assignment.

Abby, clad in her white lab coat, was bent low over a microscope, examining something that so absorbed her she didn't hear him enter or step up behind her. "Abs?" he called softly, not wanting to startle her.

"Uh huh?" she asked distantly.

"What are you doing here?" His tone carried more than the immediate question, and returned her forcibly to the present. She turned around, belatedly startled.

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly.

"I looked for you hours ago. You were U.A."

"Well, now I'm ur, so we're even." She returned with a disarming grin.

"UR?" The word sounded like a growl.

"'Unauthorized Return'."

"Abby, it's late." His words carried more than the surface point. As much as he liked her, it was too late in the day for foolish games.

"Gibbs, a good friend of mine was _raped_ this morning, and I'm going to find the bastard that did it!"

x

She told him the entire story, everything that had happened since she'd received the call that morning, twelve hours that seemed like twelve days. He listened patiently, and let her get the entire story out before answering.

"Abby, I'm sympathetic to what your friend is going through, but you left out one important point."

"What?"

"_Is she Navy_?"

Abby looked up at him, frustration coloring her tone. She had known that it was going to come down to this, but had hoped it would come down to this _tomorrow_. If she could've broken the case tonight.... "No, Gibbs, she teaches Kindergarten."

He shook his head sadly, hating to have to say it. He didn't want to seem insensitive to her friend's plight, but he had to remind her of something she knew all too well. "Then we have no jurisdiction in this case and you know it. Give it back to Metro."

"It was never Metro, it was 'ginia Troopers."

"Then–"

"What am I to do? I told you 'Hootie' and 'Blowfish' could barely be bothered to take a report, and those LEOs in the State Troopers don't have a tenth the resources I have or the time or _willingness _to make this a priority!"

Had it been Tony, Tim or Ziva, he would have answered with far less patience than he did. "Whatever 'time' or 'willingness' they have isn't the issue. You realize – and you _do_ realize it – that whatever you uncover is tainted evidence. Not only did you steal evidence–"

"That would have been _dumped_! And I did not steal it. She gave it to me, in hopes that I would find the creepazoid that raped her."

x

Gibbs restrained his tone. He did not want to be angry with Abby. He cared too much about her, almost as a father, and he had absolutely no tolerance for rapists. Still….

"But you are taking this from a _personal_ position. You know that whatever you find will likely be thrown out of court for lack of jurisdiction."

"I had plenty of evidence kits in my trunk, everything I needed for off-site collection."

"Abby, that 'Batmobile' of yours could double as a lab on wheels," he admitted and she was unable to suppress a smile at the allusion. She'd long considered putting 'Bat' decals on, but had never gotten around to it. But the smile self-destructed at his next words.

"I'm sympathetic to your friend. If I'd been there I'd have taken the bastard's head off myself, but this is causing more harm than good to your friend's case. You know what a good lawyer will do to tainted or improperly collected or handled evidence. You know the importance of the 'Chain of Evidence'."

She turned away to her worktable bitterly, angry because she had thought a hundred times of, and refused to admit even to herself, the fact that he was right. It was naïve to think that what she found could even be turned over to other authorities for action.

She couldn't meet his eyes, frustrated that she had denied what she knew, only to have been forcibly reminded of it.

"Now I'm ordering you to shut this down, return the evidence, and if you can convince your friend to file a police report and press charges, then you know that's the way to go."

She wouldn't turn back to him, only grew quieter as her frustration and anger mounted. Finally, she clutched the microscope before her so tightly she might have bent the metal if she could. "Gibbs, the woman teaches Kindergarten, for God's sake. The most exposure she has had to violence in her life has been playground scuffles settled by making the 'perps' stand facing a corner for half an hour. She didn't _deserve_ this!"

"I agree," he told her in tones unusually mild for him. He didn't want to say the words, he'd quite prefer to go to Virginia with a baseball bat, but there was nothing that could be done. Not here, not now. "Shut this down, go back home and help her." Abby forced herself to bite back the angry retort; it would do no good and only undermine her case. "But Abby, I'm also concerned about your judgment. You're back less than half a day and you step so far over the line that …."

He could say no more. His frustration with the situation, and with her, was more than he could find the words for. He shoved it aside, forced calm, reached up to stroke the back of her head.

She whirled, eyes blazing. "Damn you, Gibbs, you slap me and I'll castrate you through your _tonsils_!"

x

He stopped, astonished by her fury. He wasn't sure she mightn't actually try to fulfill this threat. He slowly lowered his hand.

This, he realized, was a different Abby than he was used to. The one he'd known was joyous, passionate about her work, ready to do everything she could to accomplish her tasks, but though _she _was still there, now there was something more. She had come to the point where she was willing to sacrifice what she had in the name of something deeper, something more meaningful to her.

Could he become the impenetrable wall that forced her to break with her friends, her career, what she believed in - that forced her to make the ultimate stand?

Not on his watch.

"Was her father Navy? Marine?" he asked more softly.

She shook her head. "Army, Korea."

"Did her school have an ROTC? Did she join?"

"I don't know."

"Find me a Naval or Marine connection; something _significant_ I can tie to, and I'll see what I can do."

She nodded, grateful for his concession, realizing he was trying to do all he could. She knew he would take this all the way to the Director, or higher if need be, to help. Leroy Jethro Gibbs had little love for rules, and more for doing what was right.

Most of all, he hated anyone who abused women. That, for Gibbs, was the line that was not crossed.

"Until then, shut all this down and go home." He shook his head, cutting off her response. "You shouldn't have left her all alone in that mausoleum of yours," he told her, trying to take the sting out of his orders.

Abby shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. "She won't find the shroud."

"You'd better hope not. It sounds like she's traumatized enough as it is."

xxx

When Abby returned home it was after ten o'clock and a knot of frustration pained her stomach. She hid it with a false smile and equally phony disposition. She had tried so hard, but Gibbs had been right. Anything she collected was worthless. She could hand the Virginia Prosecutors the guy's name on a silver platter, and he would walk out of any courtroom in the state. It just wasn't _fair_!

Dawn was ecstatic to see her, and she tried to grasp and build upon her friend's elation. From her radio on her bookshelf emanated not the searing beat of 'Def Leppard' or 'Pearl Jam', but the more sedate melody of Bach's 'Brandenburg Concerto 3 in G major'; something she did not begrudge her friend for. This music, for Abby, so typified her friend that she could never listen to any of it without it invoking happy memories of long gone years. Under Dawn's early influence Abby had become familiar with the details of this music. She didn't normally play it, but she knew it well.

"How did you do?" Dawn exclaimed, meeting her at the door. "What did you find out? Did you _catch_ him?"

"Dawn, please," she begged, holding up her hands to ward off her friend's rush, "I've barely started. Have you any idea how long a DNA match takes?"

"No," she admitted sheepishly.

"16 hours if I'm lucky."

"Okay," she conceded, trying not to look dejected, but then she picked up again as Concerto 3 gave way to Couperin's 'Pieces of Clavecin', Suite 6 for Harpsichord. "Look, we were talking about Chinese takeout before you left, but never really settled on anything." She picked up a piece of paper, handing it to Abby. "I jotted down a few ideas; I figured we could choose something we both like."

Abby took the paper, starting to read. A moment later she crumpled it up into a ball and threw it at her. Dawn laughed as she held her arms up protectively and it bounced off her. "What's wrong?"

"I am _not_ walking into Great Wall and asking for 'sum bik dik'!" She exclaimed with a laugh.

"Okay, how about telling him you want 'yu har kok'?"

Abby knew her friend didn't feel better. It would be a long time before she would be able to find any appeal in _anything _sexual. She was seeking escape in High School silliness, which at this point was fine with Abby.

"How about I serve you a large 'wak yu but'?" Dawn backed away with a giggle, hands 'protecting' her bottom. "What do you really want?" she asked, thinking about how much cash she had. She was just happy the woman was upbeat about something, anything at all, not drowning in a pit of depression or self pity. She didn't want to do anything that would break the mood. "Great Wall's about three blocks away."

The smile dissolved from Dawn's lips. "No, I'm not hungry," she said, but couldn't hold the evasion. "I couldn't eat anything. I can't keep anything down."

Abby didn't push. So far as she knew Dawn hadn't eaten anything since before the attack, but she also know she would eat when she was ready, when hunger overrode even nausea. She glanced at the clock on the left wall. "Well then, try to get some sleep."

"I can't sleep. I tried to nap, three or four times. I kept having nightmares." But then her spirits lifted. "TCM is having a Danny Kaye marathon tonight: 'Wonder Man', 'Court Jester' and 'The Secret Life of Walter Mitty'. Danny Kaye was one of my favorite comedians; he _always_ makes me laugh." She sat down on the black couch, concluding wistfully. "I _need_ to laugh."

"All right. Well, keep it low. I'm going to bed."

She looked up, smirking. "Bed?"

"Don't start. I need my beauty sleep."

xx

Over three hours later Abby came out of her bedroom to find the light on in the living room, the television on low and Dawn profoundly asleep under a light sheet on the couch. On the screen, Danny Kaye was trying very hard to remember instructions involving a poison pellet in a vessel with a pestle, while the chalice with the palace had the brew that is true. She turned off the television.

Turning around, she tucked the sheet up higher to Dawn's shoulders, bent down and gently kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, Sunshine," she whispered very softly.

"Goodnight, 'Vampirstein'," Dawn whispered as quietly, her lips barely moving. Abby was momentarily surprised, but then she realized the girl had never woken.

She was relieved. She didn't want Dawn to be awake, didn't really want to face her, not when her friend had pinned all of her hopes upon her and there was nothing she could do.

She wondered if this was how Judas Iscariot, swept along by the tidal wave of irresistible Fate, had felt.


	4. Betrayal

Chapter Four

Betrayal

Tim McGee opened his eyes when the body behind his moved slightly. He turned over carefully, not wanting to roll onto his sleeping companion.

The woman lay enshrouded in deep slumber, much of the light sheet she'd covered herself with pushed off her bare body. Though the bed was king sized, he'd been the one to suggest separate coverings; not wanting to pull hers off in the midst of the night. It was an appreciated though useless gesture; she was the 'tosser' and was most likely to awake in the middle of the night with blanket on the floor or twisted about her lithe and sensuous body.

He boosted himself up on one elbow, the better to look at her. She was still profoundly asleep, the dénouement of hours of occasionally slow, sometimes frenzied, always passionate lovemaking. Often he had to cover her mouth to muffle zealous screams of ecstasy that would otherwise result in calls for police aid. This was a difficult proposition at best, as she frequently preferred the upper position, so he had to depend upon her to quiet herself; a rare thing indeed.

Her long black hair was tousled upon the pillow, and her unbearably exotic features seemed translucent in the dim light. She lay on her side facing him, her left leg extended out to him, her breasts rising and falling slowly with her quiet breaths. Unable to help himself, he reached out, his hand resting high on her inner thigh. Her uncovered flesh, which he'd expected to be cool, was warm.

She opened her eyes to look up at him without moving. "Good morning," she whispered softly in a lyrical accent.

"Time to get up," he replied as quietly. She shifted her eyes down the length of his body, enjoying the exploration, until she focused upon a particular part of him and she smiled even more broadly.

"You are halfway there already." She looked back up, reaching for him, her hand slipping behind his neck, pulling him closer. "I would say you need only another minute."

"With you, thirty seconds." He came down to her lips, his hand slipped further up her warm thigh, touching her already moistening flesh as his other hand reached up to cup her left breast.

Ziva David sighed, her tongue slipped out to lick his as she drew his body down to hers, shifting her hips and arching her back, raising her breasts to his chest as she gave herself over to him, and in turn accepted gratefully everything he gave.

It would be many hours before she had to endure the pretense in Operations.

xxx

Abby Sciuto sat pensively behind the wheel of her black convertible, the miles slipping unheeded under them as they left Washington, the sun having barely cleared the horizon. The wind that played about them from the open top didn't affect her pigtails, though her companion had to hold her long blonde hair in her left hand, close to her chest, to keep it from blowing about wildly. Abby had insisted upon an early start, the eighty plus miles would have to be traversed twice before she could report for work. She had told Dawn that she had to face returning home, face her fear and secure herself, that the tests she had been running would take hours or days to complete and she couldn't stay with her friend and run them at the same time.

For every mile they traversed, Abby felt more and more wretched. The evidence she had collected was in the trunk of her car. She had _lied_ to her friend, who had trusted her and had turned to her for help. She was going to turn everything over to the State Police, and she wished Gibbs was in the seat behind her to administer an endless series of hard slaps to her empty skull!

x

It took a very long time to traverse the distance to the hills of Virginia, seemingly far longer than it had to come down to Washington; but she knew the reason was because of the black mood that flooded the car to drown both women. For reasons neither would discuss nor admit to the other, neither of them wanted to make this long trip.

As they passed the guard house, this time manned by a different guard who actually did stop them the check their IDs, Dawn broke her long silence. "I really wish I could've stayed with you." She kept her hands clasped on her bare legs below her ultra-short blue denim pants, pants that only hinted at hiding anything at all, pants she wouldn't ever have worn again if they had not been the only ones Abby had packed. They were her own clothes. She'd packed them in anticipation of having a good time; something Abby had reminded her quite firmly when she had found them in the bag this morning. But now she wished she could cover up instead. She looked down at the brief sleeveless pink halter tied below her breasts, leaving her midriff bare, kept her hands firmly upon her lap in an effort to hide as much of her thighs from high crotch down, and felt absolutely _naked_. She'd caught the unknown guard's close inspection of her legs, and for the first time she could remember she had _not_ liked it!

"You know you can't," Abby retorted more sharply than she'd intended to, guilt tearing at her. She mentally backed up and tried again, more calmly, following the irregular curves of the main road by rote alone. "There's nothing for you in the city. You've got to go to the Police, tell them again what happened and _make_ them do something about it. You don't need me to hold your hand to do that. You're a tough gal; you can stand up for yourself."

"Stand up for myself?" Dawn asked with a trace of high hysteria in her tone, looking up at Abby in open astonishment as they turned off the main road by the eastern beach and started to ascend the hill. "I can't even face going into that house by myself."

"Well, you're gonna have to do that too. The only way you're going to conquer your fear is to face it." They approached the first of the three intersections. "It's hard, it's cruel, its –."

"_SHIT_!" Dawn yelled. Abby, startled, barely managed to keep her eyes, and the car, on the inclining road.

"Yeah, it's shit too, but–"

"_STOP THE CAR_!" Dawn shrieked.

Abby slammed her foot down on the brake, and the convertible slid to a stop on the packed dirt and gravel. Angry, she turned on the girl.

"_Look_, I _know_ you're stressed out, but if you –!" The words died in her throat; Dawn wasn't looking at her. She was looking back the way they had come, though the trees that bordered the roads, back beyond the intersection they had just passed. Through the thick trees, Abby could see flashes of colored lights, but nothing more. Dawn turned back to her, her expression matching her frantic voice.

"Back up!"

Abby needed no further urging. Relaxing pressure on the brake, she eased the convertible into a controlled descent down the hill until they were sitting in the intersection of two packed dirt roads, looking at a white Lake Security Patrol car, two silver grey State Police RMPs and an Ambulance all parked in an irregular mob about a hundred forty feet down the road.

"That's Dottie Higgins' house!" Dawn stared at the scene for many seconds; then turned back to Abby. As the two women stared at each other, each knew with mounting dread the reason for the scene. Neither could ever say _how_ they knew, but both knew they were right.

Dawn threw her seatbelt violently from her body, wrenched the handle of her door up, threw the metal barrier aside and dove out of the car, ran at breakneck speed along the road, her wooden soled clogs beating a staccato rhythm.

"_Dawn_!" Abby yelled. She knew her running friend could hear her, but the blonde girl never slowed. Biting back a curse, she stepped on the emergency brake to lock the car in place, pulled open her seatbelt, leaned across to reach the open door; having to almost lean out of the car to reach it and pull it shut. Then she resumed her seat and grasped the shift control. Dawn was already out of sight, having run to the right onto the property and beyond view, hidden by the trees.

"Day just keeps getting better," she muttered angrily, backing up, shifting gears, and turning the 'batmobile' toward new and worse trouble.

x

When Abby stopped the car as far out of the way of the Emergency vehicles as she could, she looked to her right at a yellow and white one story bungalow, a carefully manicured lawn and a Lake Security Officer. He knelt on one knee on the grass, favoring his other shin. The picture told the story well enough; the Security Officer had tried to halt the frantic girl, and had gotten kicked for his efforts.

She recognized the Guard as the same one who had waved them though so accommodatingly yesterday. Apparently friendship only counted for so much. Abby turned off the motor, at the same time checking to make certain her badge was in her jacket pocket. It did not grant jurisdiction, but maybe it would serve to cool tempers. "I'm gonna _blister_ her ass," Abby muttered, realizing the only temper it was not going to cool was her own.

x

Sweet smiles, polite professional manner and an official gold badge got her past a civilian Security Officer, but when she got inside the bungalow there were four State Troopers, three EMTs, one frantic blonde being blocked from reaching her friend by an annoyed Trooper, and a sobbing brunette; Caucasian, twenty eight to thirty years old, sitting huddled in a chair and wrapped in a blue blanket, surrounded by the EMTs. Her face was bruised and fresh bandages marked her face. When Abby came in, everyone wearing a uniform looked at her. None of them were happy to see her.

"I'm really sorry about this," she said.

"Who are you?" The tallest of the four Troopers asked. With his Smoky Bear hat still on his head, he looked impressively tall indeed. She saw the metal Sergeant's insignia attached to the lapels of his blue uniform shirt, so it was to him that she gave her full attention. The silver bar pinned over his right shirt pocket said 'R. Johnson'.

"I'm Abby Sciuto, that's Dawn Caldwell. We were passing by, and I take it they know each other…." Her voice trailed away lamely, she couldn't help it. She could feel the Trooper's disapproving stare as he scanned her all the way from her black pig tailed hair past her black tee shirt with silver studded skull and crossbones upon her chest, past her black microskirt decorated with silver studs on the hem, along her black fishnet stocking covered legs to her calf high black boots. She felt that every detail of her attire was a black mark against her.

She looked at Dawn, clad in a sleeveless pink midriff halter, blue ultra_short_ denim 'scorch' pants that only covered her with the assistance of prayer, and bare feet in wooden soled clogs. The last had doubtlessly contributed greatly to the Security Guard's newfound irritation with her and she knew she had better establish some type of credibility – fast.

Attire wasn't going to do it. When dealing with Police, the only acceptable attire to wear to a crime scene is a uniform and a badge – and she had only the badge.

She really hadn't wanted to introduce herself in this way, far preferring to walk into a Station House and present herself properly.

"I'm with NCIS," she told him, pulling out her ID case and displaying her card and shield. She very carefully did not change expression when she saw the unenlightened look in his eyes. "Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

He shook his head. "You're a long way from an ocean, lady."

"I realize that. I was bringing my friend home." She looked pointedly at the crying woman huddled in the blanket and decided to divert focus away from herself to its proper place. "Was she raped?"

"Why do you ask that?" he asked with a police officer's suspicion of anyone who is too well informed.

Abby glanced at Dawn. "So was she; yesterday. I'm betting it's by the same animal."

x

Something in her words seemed to break through the crying woman's distress. She looked up, seeing Dawn standing a few feet from her. "Dawn?" She asked uncertainly.

"Yes, Dot, it's me."

Higgins reached for her, and after a moment Sergeant Johnson gave the Trooper blocking Dawn's path a brief nod. The man stepped aside, allowed her to pass. Dawn knelt beside her friend, taking her trembling hand.

"I know the name Dawn Caldwell," Johnson told Abby. "She was interviewed yesterday; declined to press charges. I'm glad to have them together."

"She didn't 'decline' anything. Your Officers 'Hootie' and 'Blowfish' didn't make things easy on her." Too late she realized her mistake, and wished she could bite the irreverent words back. Johnson looked at her curiously.

"I have no such Officers. It was Todd and McGee that took the call."

"My mistake." She breathed a silent sigh of relief; grateful that he was not fluent in 'pop culture' even as she avoided reacting to the horrible coincidence. No wonder she had not recalled their names. Usually it was something she didn't miss; this time her mind must have glossed over it. "Nevertheless…" she paused. It wasn't a good idea to put the man's ire up, not when things were starting to go well. "She wants to press charges now."

"Well good. Having both of them will help put this bastard away."

x

"It's going to be okay, Dot," Dawn's consoling voice drifted over to them. "I've brought someone who can help."

"No one can help!" The darker woman protested in a voice that was little more than a sob.

"She can." Dawn compelled Dorothy's attention across the room. "That's my friend Abby. She's a Forensic Detective; the 'Sherlock Holmes' of the Navy. She's the one the Navy goes to with all their biggest problems."

Abby had to look away at this, but her eyes met those of Sergeant Johnson and she caught his wry smile, unable to restrain one of her own. But Dawn's next words washed the smiles from both of their faces.

"She has all the evidence of what that bastard did to me, and she's using it to find him and make him pay."

Johnson's expression was considerably less friendly. "You removed evidence from a crime scene?"

Abby wanted to kick her friend, but the damage was already done. She could only face up to the taller Sergeant, try to repair things quickly. "When your Officers declined to take action, Dawn turned everything over to my care. However, there's no jurisdiction for NCIS to handle this case, so I was returning the samples and other evidence. It's all in the trunk of my car. I was going to turn it over at your Command when I dropped Dawn off."

She glanced at the other women, and instantly regretted it. Dawn was staring at her, the pain of betrayal on her pale face.

"Well, that's fine," Johnson said. "Dupres, you and Kane take charge of all that stuff while Simmons and I take statements. Be sure you have the results of all the analyses Miss Sciuto was able to complete as well."

"It's all in the files," Abby assured them. Johnson turned his attention back to her.

"Personally I don't care two hoots in hell about 'territory', and I'm not about to get into any 'pissing match' with anyone, Navy or otherwise. I care more about catching this bastard than I do _who_ catches him."

"Glad to hear it. We go through enough 'matches' with FBI, CIA, NSA and BSA. It's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't sweat it."

"BSA?" He'd never heard of that one.

"Bull Shit Agency."

Johnson at least kept his laugh quiet. "Nice to know, when the Feds try to walk in and take over cases, they can't get along either."

"Friend, you have _no_ idea."

xx

It was over half an hour later before Abby and Dawn left the building. Much of that time had been taken in trying to convince Dorothy Higgins to go with the EMTs who would transport her to the hospital. She hadn't wanted to go, and it took all of Dawn's urgings to convince her. Dawn knew all too well that what had happened to her friend wouldn't be resolved by a series of hot showers, no matter how badly the woman wanted to lose herself in them.

In that time Abby had learned a great deal, all of it disturbing. From the choking and torture through the taping of hands and ankles, the latter this time across the length of a long handled mop; to the use of a black hood and distinctive bite marks on the woman's breasts, it was all too obvious that they were dealing with the same suspect.

Abby was glad that this information had all been revealed while Dawn was giving her statement in another room. She doubted her friend could have stood up to the trauma of hearing her own rape repeated in such gruesome detail.

Abby and Dawn returned to the convertible in oppressive silence that broke as soon as the doors were closed. "When were you going to tell me that you were off my case?" Dawn asked in a voice heavy with the fresh wounds of betrayal.

There was no way to avoid or soften the truth. "I'm not 'off your case'. I'm still with you. But my boss told me I can't do anything officially here. You're not in the Navy, you're not a Marine, and if you ever joined even a JROTC program you never mentioned it."

"What does any of _that_ have to do with it?" Dawn demanded, outraged fury opening the wound of betrayal.

Abby started the car more forcibly than she needed to, and pulled her emotions back, trying to keep them under control. Nevertheless her voice was tighter than she'd intended it to be. "There are _laws_, Sunshine." She pulled the car out, turned it around in a driveway of a house a few yards back across the road and headed back to the ascending road. "NCIS can't investigate civilian crimes. That's the jurisdiction of the State Troopers, and we have to leave it there. They are the ones you have to deal with. Anything I find wouldn't be admissible in court, because there are clear boundaries of jurisdiction." She was really growing to _hate_ that word. "I tried to get around them and I got caught."

"What does 'jurisdiction' have to do with anything?" Dawn asked bitterly, frustrated fury growing in her tone.

"Everything. When this comes to court, it must be done ri–"

"I gave all that stuff to you - I _humiliated_ myself - I even let you take those embarrassing pictures, and now you tell me you won't _help_ me?"

Abby turned onto the road leading to Dawn's house. "Damn it, Sunshine, for a teacher you're being awfully dense!"

x

As soon as the words, driven by her own frustration and anger, were out of her mouth, Abby was sorry. She looked at her friend, wanting to bite the retort back, but the expression on Dawn's face as they pulled to a stop in front of the white trimmed blue bungalow was terrible to behold.

"I trusted you!" she exclaimed bitterly, her voice choked and breaking, tears slowly tracing down her cheeks. "I believed you would _help_ me. I knew that if there was one person in this State that I could call for help it would be you. Last night I slept all through the night and do you know why? It was because I knew Abby Sciuto was on my case, that you would _find_ the bastard that did this to me and make him pay!

"But you _lied_ to me! All the time you had me believing you were helping me, you had everything in your trunk and you were going to give it all _away_! To people you _knew_ didn't give a damn about me enough to take a frigging statement."

"Sunshine, I–"

"_No_! You _lied_ to me! You tricked me. You brought me back because you weren't going to _help_ me anymore, even though you _know_ you can do the job better than these cops. You made believe you were going to help me, but you turned your back on me just because your _boss_ said to!"

She wrenched open the car door, got out and slammed it shut, looked down on her 'friend'. "Well, _forget_ it then. If this is what our friendship means, then just get out of here and don't ever come _back_!" She reached into the back seat and yanked out her blue overnight bag, slung it over her shoulder. "We're _through_. I don't ever want to _see_ you again!"

Turning away, she stalked up the low hill to the bungalow, shoved her key into the lock, let herself in and slammed the door.

Abby stared after her friend whose every hate-filled word had stabbed her heart.


	5. Heartache

Chapter Five

Heartache

When Abby arrived at the on-base NCIS headquarters, driving into the lower level garage, directly above the Morgue level, she felt so wretched from the 160 mile round trip that she did not care what time it was, who she saw or anything else for that matter. Thus, when Director Jennifer Shepherd stepped beside her as she used the retinal scan to identify herself for access to the elevator, she was wholly surprised by the woman's sudden materialization. The car doors opened and they stepped in.

"Getting in late." Shepherd observed. With any of the others, Abby might have made the same observation in return, but sometimes she was not entirely sure of her position with the redheaded Administrator, and decided it was best to err on the side of caution.

"I had to drive a friend home. It's eighty miles each way."

"Yes, I heard about your friend. My condolences."

The car started to ascend, and would be at the half submerged level containing her Forensics Lab in less than five seconds. Impulsively, not even allowing herself to think about it, Abby reached out and slapped the 'Emergency Stop' switch. The car stopped instantly, the lights dimming to three-quarters intensity. "Director Shepherd, could I talk to you privately?" The words were out in a rush.

The woman glanced about the large, silver car. "Can't get much more private than this." She observed. "What's on your mind?"

"You heard about my friend. How much do you already know?"

"A lot, actually. I wanted to talk to you about it; this seems as good a time as any. As to how much I know; when one of my people starts behaving in a manner that shows she's under extreme stress, I get brought into the loop." She fixed the dark woman with a wry look. "Tell me, did you _really_ threaten to castrate Jethro from his tonsils down?"

Abby felt herself blushing. "Something like that." She admitted, trying to hide her embarrassment. "I wasn't really … that is, I …I didn't really …" Shepherd held up her hand.

"Let it go, Abby. It's not like it's anything I haven't thought of doing myself from time to time." Abby fought not to gape at the woman, but she clearly was not finished. "I wanted to talk to you about something far more serious."

"What's that, Ma'am?" Something in her tone was giving new depth to the word 'ominous'.

x

"Abby, you are the best Forensic Scientist I have ever met, possibly the best this side of the Mississippi. As such, you are an enormous asset to this Agency, and I feel both proud and lucky to have you with us. I know you could easily outsource yourself to the FBI or any other Agency; and they would have you in a moment, possibly for more than we can afford to pay you. But I have always admired your loyalty as much as your ability. You work well with our teams, and as such I have been more than willing to overlook certain … eccentricities." She glanced over Abby's black pig tailed hair past her black tee shirt with silver stud skull and crossbones upon her chest, past her above-the-thigh length black skirt decorated with silver studs, past black fishnet stockings to her calf high black boots.

"And I really appreciate that, Ma'am." Abby assured her, not certain where this was going and not liking the uncertainty one bit. "I've always felt close to everyone here, and that means a lot more than a few bucks."

"I'm glad to hear that. Nevertheless I am concerned about something. You've just returned from a month's vacation – and it was a 'Vacation'. I didn't think the term 'Medical Rest Leave' needed to be on your record, nor should you need the requisite Psychological Exam in order to return to your duties."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"Unfortunately, less than three hours after you are back, you're found to be a.w.o.l. Now I'm not addressing the issue itself – if a friend of mine were in need as yours was I'd probably drop everything too – though I would tell someone where I was going."

"Understood. Sorry."

"My concern is that while you were there you … came into the possession of certain evidence you knew you had no right to acquire, and you used the resources of this Agency in a manner that could only hurt your friend's case. That is atypical behavior I would not have thought you capable of."

"Ma'am, Special Agent Gibbs ordered me to return everything to the Virginia State Troopers, and I have."

"I know you did. Remember, I heard about your 'offer' to Gibbs. But I also know that, while you were there this morning, you insinuated yourself into another investigation, and gathered evidence in that case."

"No, Ma'am." She countered definitely, not certain how Shepherd could possibly know about the Higgins incident, and not liking the only possible conclusion. The 'bad feeling' in the pit of her stomach got a lot worse. "I was dragged into that incident, and I 'collected' nothing. I merely observed."

"And what did you 'observe'?"

"That the same perp who attacked Dawn yesterday attacked Dorothy Higgins early this morning when she returned from her jog."

"I have no doubt." The woman took a deep breath, held it for several seconds and then let it out. "Abby, you are a fantastic Forensic Scientist; as I said you're the best I've ever seen. But your expertise shows itself best in the Laboratory, not in the Field. You are not a Field Agent, and I want it to be perfectly understood that in your future dealings with Miss Caldwell you are not functioning in the capacity of an NCIS Agent."

"I'm not entirely sure I will be having many more 'dealings' with Dawn."

"Oh?"

"At least not for a while. When I returned everything to the State Troopers and told her I can't work on the case because of 'jurisdiction', she accused me of betraying her, and she's not speaking to me anymore."

"I'm sorry. But we both know where that comes from, and that it won't last."

"I know. It still hurts."

"I know. However, when you go back, and I know you will go back; I want your word that you will not act in any way in an official capacity." The request was all the more ominous for having been made twice.

x

"Director, what aren't you saying?"

Jenny sighed. "I received a call half an hour ago. It's no coincidence that I met you in the garage; I was waiting for you. If you had not hit the 'stop' switch, I would have. I wanted to talk to you outside the office. I didn't want any of this to be official."

"What?" Abby felt an unwelcome chill that slid through her body like slush down a slope.

"I've received a complaint about you. A serious one. I won't go into the specific words used, but the subject had to do with your taking evidence from a hospital and … 'tainting it' is a polite way of phrasing it."

"Sergeant Johnson said he didn't care who did the work; he was not getting into a pissing match over jurisdiction, as long as the bastard was caught."

"Sadly, Chief Grimby isn't so far sighted. The bottom line is that you have been declared 'persona non grata' on this case, and you have been banned from the present and future sites of any crimes." She did not give Abby a chance to interrupt. "I told him what I thought of his ban, that you have a personal interest in Miss Caldwell; and that if you did go there it would be as a friend, not as an NCIS Agent. I also told him that if he doesn't like it, he can come up here and I'll stick his 'persona non grata' where the sun doesn't shine."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

She reached out to the 'Emergency Stop' control. "Don't make me sorry."

"I won't." The lights resumed their normal intensity, and the car started to rise.

"As far as I'm concerned, this conversation never happened." The doors slid open.

"I understand." Abby said, getting off. She knew that the next time they spoke, if there was a next time, the 'conversation' would be official.

Shepherd gave her a brief, reassuring smile before the doors slid shut, and Abby turned and made her way down the corridor to her lab.

xx

She worked for some time on several old and completed reports left behind before her vacation, but she was normally so meticulous that this was nothing but empty work, adding in unnecessary words, a waste of time to keep her mind busy and off her real problem. Every few minutes her eyes would dart to the telephone, and the bitter words of her friend seared her mind. As the interval between glances grew shorter and shorter, she tried her best to hold out. Finally, she could stand it no longer.

Picking up the receiver, she punched in the ten digit number, and listened to the muted 'ringing'. Five, ten, she started to think maybe Dawn was out, or asleep. Fifteen, she started to feel more wretched. Twenty, she was about to give up when the ringing stopped. "Hello?"

She had never heard her friend sound so morose.

"Hi, Sunshine, it's me. I just wanted to –." click.

Abby looked at the receiver in her hand, not entirely surprised but stung nonetheless. But she was not about to give up on her friend. Pressing the call button down, she released it and got the 'dial' tone again, then hit the redial button.

Five, ten, fifteen, an eternity to eighteen… "What?"

"Sunshine, don't hang up. Please. I just –." click.

Gritting her teeth, Abby reestablished the line and hit redial. 'Boop … boop … boop … boop …' Sighing, she set the phone down again.

She sat for what felt like forever, not thinking. Pointedly, she would not think of what she was tempted beyond all reason to do. It went against all her morals, all her principles, was a gross violation of her – oh, the _Hell_ with it!

Stalking over to the fingerprint comparison database, she called up a file she had preserved, a single clear fingerprint lifted off the long broom handle that had held Dawn's legs spread widely apart. The latex glove the perp had worn had been damaged in the struggle when Dawn bit it, and the damage had not been noticed before it had allowed a perfect print to be deposited on the painted wood.

That print appeared on the left side of the screen, a full twenty points of distinction marked, more so than was necessary for a positive identification that would stand in any court in the country. Prosecutors loved to go to court with at least twelve, six was a 'minimum' though cases had been built on one or two. She turned on the unit's full capacity; and on the right side, too quickly for the human eye to distinguish; print after print flashed. She'd start by finishing up the National Sex Crimes Database, then move on from there.

xx

More so than the proverbial 'watched pot', Abby knew that staring at the screen would accomplish absolutely nothing. It would go through its hundreds of thousands of samples, moving on with a single-minded devotion to detail that would not change whether she did other work, slept, ate or played hand ball.

Nevertheless, she found herself staring at the screen, lost in the hypnotic images flashing on the right side of the screen in an attempt to match the static image on the left. She knew that no amount of staring could make that bright green bar proclaiming 'Positive Match' appear any sooner, yet still she stared. And in those flashing images were the scenes of a lifetime of memories, days and weeks and months and years flickering too fast to resolve, but they were all there. She could lose herself in the memories; lose herself in the images; lose herself in the guilt.

When she could stand it no longer, she reached out and turned on the radio, switching from her usual fare of 'chaotic rock' to a more sedate station. It was cosmic misfortune that Michelle Branch's 'You Get Me' was playing. Much as she liked the song, she always seemed to equate it in her mind with Tim McGee, and this time was no different.

As the poignant words evoked memories, she 'saw' again their first date, even before he had joined the Washington NCIS, when he was a Research Agent for Norfolk. Then it was thoughts of their working closely together while he was trying to rebuild a circuit board, and she had kept close to him, and closer still, saying she wanted to improve her skills but not telling him which ones. The memory of the night they had spent in her coffin, when she would not even let the lights be lit so he could see what it was, was particularly intense. He'd thought it was a box bed, until Gibbs had revealed otherwise. Then it was the memory of her pushing him into her private sanctum for some aroma therapy when he was stressed out from thinking he had shot a Metro Detective in the line of duty. Then that turbulent evening in his apartment when she been hiding out from Mike Mower; had undressed before him, stripping down to a tee shirt and very brief panties imprinted with a skeleton that fairly screamed 'jump my bones' and he had utterly failed to get her.

She shrieked when a hand closed on her right shoulder.

x

She whirled about on the stool, barely managing in time to keep from lashing out at an old friend.

Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard regarded her with some chagrin. "I'm sorry, Abby; I didn't mean to startle you so. I called to you several times, but you never heard me."

He was wearing a tweed jacket with a brown bow tie, lighter brown pants, a vest and white shirt. On his head was a blue fishing cap. No one could ever accuse Mallard, in his own way, of being 'conformist' any more than they could accuse her.

"Ducky, you scared me out of half a year's growth!" She saw her own pale expression and wide eyes reflected in the round lenses of his glasses. Not the least reason for her fright was that she was doing something she most certainly should not be.

"I am sorry." He apologized with utter sincerity. "You may have some of mine. At my age, I've little use for it."

She had to grin. The man always had that effect upon her. "Where'd you learn to sneak about like that?"

"Well, I wasn't intending to 'sneak'. I suppose I've always been quiet." Then his tone changed to his 'digression voice'. "I used to think I would be quite good at covert operations, even before taking up medicine. I had visions in my youth of being a suave 'Secret Agent'."

"I can see it now." She said with an affectionate grin. "'Ducky' Bond, licensed to kill and then explain how they died."

"Well, we Scots do have a tradition to uphold." Though Bond had been played by actors of several nationalities, including an Irishman; for Ducky the only _true_ Bond was a Scotsman.

"You'd have made a good Secret Agent. I can see you now – but I think I'd like you with a bit longer hair."

"I could often move about 'invisibly', as it were." He agreed. "Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago; or is it two?"

She grinned at him and turned off the radio. "I sense a story coming on."

"Something with masks, I think. Remind me to tell you about it some day." He looked at the screen beyond her. "What have we here?"

x

She glanced back. The search was still proceeding at blurring speed. "I lifted a clean print from a crime scene." She told him the story, feeling she had to relate it to someone who was not a 'boss', just a friend. "I thought I'd have something by now, but there are no parameters to narrow the search. Can there really be so many sex perverts in one country?"

"Sadly, my dear, the answer seems to be 'yes'."

She kept staring at the screen, but could not keep from admitting: "I'm not supposed to be doing this."

"Ah," was about as judgmental as he got.

"I can't help it. I can't help myself. I can't sit by and do nothing." She sighed, staring at the screen. "Why can't I stop?"

"It's a terrible thing when your sister is in trouble; you have the power to help, and they say you can't."

Abby turned back. "She's not my sister."

"Not here…" He touched her forehead with one gentle finger. "But here." He tapped above her heart. "How long have you known her?"

"I started baby-sitting for her after school and weekends, when her parents were trying to get their grocery store off the ground. She was seven and I was eleven. I'd be doing my homework, and all she wanted to do was play and have me read comic books to her." She smiled at the fond memory, admitting; "I read a lot of comic books."

"Four years between you." He said thoughtfully. "A wide gap when you're seven and eleven; a breath when you're twenty two and twenty six."

"We've been best buds since forever." She tried to keep her pain out of her tone, but it was hard. "Now she won't even talk to me."

"She will." He said confidently.

"I wish I could be sure. I tried my best to help her. I even defied Gibbs. I'm defying him even now." She admitted, pointing to the flashing images upon the screen.

"She's your sister. You protected and cared for her for all those years, kept her safe. At some point it stopped being a 'job'." His eyes met hers, and she was struck again by the wisdom she saw in them. "And now she's hurt, in trouble, and all those feelings again come into play. You're her big sister, and you will always care for her."

"It's not just when we were kids." She agreed. "We kept close even as adults. Even after I moved up North we still kept in touch. Sometimes – lots of times – she came to me for advice even before she'd go to her parents." She leaned back against the table behind her. "I remember once she asked my advice about choosing between two boys."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her the guy with the stud in his tongue would probably be a lousy kisser, but for licking he'd be an experience she would not believe."

He nodded, carefully schooling his expression. "Sage advice, though not likely the kind she might get from her parents." She grinned. "The point is that there is a bond between you that time and distance will never break."

Her smile turned to a depressed sigh. "She's mad at me now. Thinks I betrayed her, turned my back on her when I had to give over everything to the Virginia Troopers."

"Is this your first fight?"

Abby laughed, but it was bitter. "God, no."

"And when you're both old and gray, like me, you'll still feel the same bond."

She looked up at him, and this time her smile was more genuine, more hopeful. "Thank you, Ducky."

He patted her shoulder. "Think nothing of it, Abby girl."

x

He was the one person who could use her full name, much as she disliked it, without arousing her ire, because he did not use it in full either. He turned and started out of the Lab, but before he could get all the way out; "Ducky?" She called to him impulsively, not allowing herself to hold back.

Almost to the sliding glass doors, he turned back. "Yes?"

She stood up, too tense to remain seated, too driven by emotion to keep silent and determined to say what was on her mind before she lost her nerve.

"Can I ask you something? And have you forget I ever asked you?"

He thought about the strange request for a moment. "Yes."

She stepped up to him. "What did I do wrong?" She asked plaintively.

He waited expectantly for a moment. "It might help if I knew what we were talking about."

"Tim. Tim and me." She bit her lip. "And Tim and Ziva."

"Ah. You two had something of a relationship going before he got assigned here from Norfolk."

"Even when he got here permanently, we …"

"Yes, I understand it went through some interesting developments." She didn't say anything. She couldn't.

"But then it cooled."

"What happened?"

"McGee will say it was because of commitment issues; that he wanted to commit to a steady relationship and I didn't."

"Ah. And why do you think he would say these things?"

She looked up at him, but her smile was heavily tinged with sadness. "Because they're true."

x

He didn't say anything in turn, waiting her out. "He and I got started so well. It was a good relationship, pretty hot at times. Sometimes maybe a bit too hot?" She added with fond recollection. "But I wasn't ready to take it to the next level, so things cooled down, you know?"

"I'd say your relationship 'matured' rather than cooled." He told her thoughtfully. "It was no longer based on animal magnetism, or on lust, but on something deeper. You learned how to deal with your feelings in a 'workplace' situation, and balance 'hot animal passion' with genuine affection."

"But part of me misses the 'passion'. I want those times back."

"They don't _come_ back, Abby, at least not in the same way. Whatever your future relationship with Tim McGee is to be, it's going to be based upon the evolution in your relationship that has come over the past two years. The feelings you had for him initially were … 'flavored' with the novelty, and with unique 'spices'.

"Now you've worked together closely for about two years. I can see the affection between you – even if neither of you do. But it is the affection and love that come from working beside one another for several years. I'd say it's like two married folk, even if you never do get him into your coffin again."

This time her smile was tinged with a coloring blush. "You heard about that, huh?"

"Rather hard not to; the poor boy was shaking for a week. When he and Tony investigated that crematorium, I heard he did not have an easy time of it."

"I'd told him it was a box bed, and he believed me. I think at the time he wouldn't have cared _what_ we were on! Maybe I _should_ have put the lights on in the morning; not have him find out about it from Gibbs." But then her smile vanished, and she sighed feelingly.

"But I have these _feelings_, you know? For a long time. I wanted … that is, I _tried_ to tell him … how I feel. But he just … never seemed to _get_ it. And now I'm back …" She couldn't finish.

"And he's in a relationship with Ziva."

"It's making me _crazy_, and I can't help it! I can't stop thinking that …" She could not bring herself to admit what she was thinking. He put his arm about her shoulders, turning her about toward her lab.

"Abby, putting aside for the moment the dubious wisdom of pursuing a relationship in the workplace, something Jethro can give you a great deal of perspective on, I have a very accurate scale in my morgue."

"Huh?" She was completely lost.

"On that scale I can give you the exact weight of any organ in the body, and there are many other instruments to give all sorts of other information. But you cannot weigh or measure feelings," he pointed to one of her instruments, "nor subject them to a mass spectrometer.

"They simply _are_."

x

She thought about it. "So what you're saying is …"

"I'm not 'saying' anything, Abby girl. I don't even remember what we were talking about." Kissing her lightly on the side of her head, he turned and left.

She thought of calling him back, but knew there was no point. In his own grandfatherly way, he had told her everything he was going to.

xx

Abby sat staring at the flickering images on the right side of the fingerprint computer screen, lost in the blur. On another machine was the continuing analysis of a DNA sample, this one mercifully invisible, for it would have to run for about eighteen hours to give a full reading, and only two thirds of that time had elapsed. Until then, there was nothing she could do. Unable to endure the silence any longer, she reached for her radio.

"_That had better not be from Virginia_!" A sharp voice called from behind her. She looked over her shoulder and had to swallow her heart, seeing Leroy Gibbs approaching like a looming thunderhead, Tony DiNozzo hanging back a pace or two, seemingly wanting to keep out of the fallout.

Biting the bullet, she turned and hopped off the stool, deciding the only way to play it was to face up to him. "It is."

x

He could not believe it. He wanted to help her so badly, yet she insisted upon making it impossible.

"Damn it, Abby." He exclaimed, face coloring in his frustration. "What's gotten into you? Didn't I order you to stop this? Didn't the Director talk to you this morning?" His tone made it clear that there was no point in answering.

"I can't let this drop, Gibbs. Damn it, she's my s–." She managed to bite it back in time. "She's my friend. I'd do the same for you." She looked past him to DiNozzo. "I _have_ done it for you!"

Gibbs' face colored more; she had never seen him so angry. "Damn it, what the Hell is wrong with you? You are bringing 'Insubordination' to a whole new level. I wanted to believe that your problem was with the caffeine addiction, that a month away from work would help, but ever since you're back your behavior, your judgment, are …" He forcibly bit back the words. When he could speak again, there was too much personal pain in his voice. He'd hoped a month away would help her; now he was worried that her problem was deeper than he'd realized. He truly cared for her, like a daughter, and seeing her like this was painful indeed.

"Abby, I didn't want to do this – I thought it could be avoided – but you leave me no choice. I don't want to lose you, but if you can't show valid jurisdiction _right now_ to justify your actions I'm going to have to suspend you pending an Official Psychological Review to determine your fitness to remain on duty. These bouts of flagrant insubordination seem to be evidence of a deeper problem. Now I don't want to do this, but if it's the only way for you to get the help you so clearly seem to need, then that's how we'll do it."

She glanced away from his riveting eyes to the flashing fingerprint scanner that offered no help, and to the equally uncooperative Electrophoresis machine which was analyzing a small sample of hair.

"Well?" He demanded, losing what little patience he'd still retained. He wanted her to succeed, or to get the help she needed, but she was not helping herself either way. "Where's your 'jurisdiction'?" She looked down, unable to meet his eyes. The seconds drew out. He gave her them, and more. Still she would not look at him.

"Okay." He told her, acceding to the inevitable. "Pack your trash. You're suspended."

x

He turned and stalked away, signaling DiNozzo to follow. She saw the pain in the younger Agent as he'd had to watch, unable to interfere, as a fellow Agent's career self-destructed before his eyes. He turned, following Gibbs to the door. She looked at the fingerprint computer, at the DNA Analyzer, turned and watched them go through the sliding glass door.

"_The rapist's a Marine_!" She cried.

Gibbs stopped so suddenly DiNozzo almost slammed into him. The Supervisory Agent turned. "Okay, show me." Was there actually a tone of relief in his voice, despite her outrageous claim?

"Get the others down here, and I'll give you everything I have."

Gibbs nodded to DiNozzo, who pulled out his cell phone.


	6. Answers and Agony

Chapter Six

Answers and Agony

Gibbs, DiNozzo, McGee and David stood in a semi-circle about Abby as she explained, speaking in her customary '33rpm record on a 45 turntable' manner, tapping into that ultimate 'Caf-Pow!' reserve in an effort to keep from being interrupted.

"First the similarities: When Dawn and Dorothy Higgins were assaulted the perp got into the houses without being seen. Both times he used the back door, but in neither case was there any indication that he had come through the woods, and he had to. The fronts of the houses are simply too open – he couldn't approach without being seen.

"Dawn was taking in her laundry from the back yard where she'd left it overnight; he'd slipped past her while she was listening to her Walkman. Higgins was coming in through the front door from her early morning jog when she was grabbed about 0500. Both were grabbed from behind, rendered unconscious, though he beat the hell out of Higgins first, and when they were out they were stripped, their hands were bound with electrical tape over their heads, tied to tables.

"Their ankles were taped as well, Dawn's to a broom handle and Higgins to a mop. Both had black hoods shoved over their heads, possibly the same one. They couldn't see anything. Both said they could feel gloves; I think he used latex. But in the struggle with Dawn one of the fingertips was torn; she thinks she bit it. Either way, I managed to lift one print off the broom handle." She indicated the enlarged image currently serving as a base for rapid fire comparisons.

"I'm running the print against Selective Services records as well as Sex Crimes Lists. The number of Servicemen seems to be less," she said with heavy irony.

"Get on with it," Gibbs advised with strained patience. He was still waiting for the proof to back up her assertion that they were looking for a Marine.

"Okay. The creep used a condom in both rapes, but obviously it's not because he's a nice guy. He didn't want to leave any DNA traces any more than he wanted fingerprints. There were also no tracks at all around the house; at least none the Troopers found though we could be more thorough. He was meticulous, but not meticulous enough. The 'rape kit' they used on Dawn in the hospital turned up four pubic hairs that were combed out of hers." She pointed to the Electrophoresis machine used in DNA Analysis. "I got some microscopic images on those hairs and now I'm running a test on one of them."

"You were ordered to turn over everything to the Virginia State Troopers," Gibbs 'reminded' her.

"I gave them _three_! I just … held onto one." He didn't want to continue the fight. "Anyway, it was a kinky black hair, and I'll have a match before I'm through."

She tried to forget the fact that if she did not convince her friends of her allegations, she was indeed through.

x

"Now look at this." She picked up a remote control, aiming it at the wide plasma screen set above a freestanding console in the middle of the room. On it appeared several consecutive pictures of bite marks; the images so close that only in a few could they be seen to be indentations on breasts. The wounds were still livid hours after the attack, and were particularly distinguished by the four round holes, two at either side of top and bottom. "I can't get a dental impression from those teeth, and I'll give you one guess why not."

"They're fake," DiNozzo declared definitely.

"Right. Plastic upper and lower sets marketed as 'Vampire Fangs' in half the Novelty stores in the country, though they really should be marketed as 'Werewolf Fangs', because vampires don't have an enlarged lower set, just canines. Anyway, cut off the fangs and you're left with these sorts of holes."

"But if he bit them, even with fake teeth, couldn't you get a DNA sampling from the saliva?" Tim asked.

"No, this guy's crafty. He used a solution of ammonia and bleach when he was done. It obliterated any DNA samples. What I got was utterly useless, a microscopic jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing."

"Sounds like he has most of his bases covered," DiNozzo opined. He had no particular love for 'smart' perps.

"I thought so too, but he slipped up on one point. He was too smart for his own good."

"That kind I like," Gibbs said. "What did he do?"

"It was both times when he choked them, first to knock them out so he could tape them up, the second when he was done so he could get away." She looked over the four of them. "Ziva, would you help me out with this part?"

The dark haired woman stepped closer. "What do I do?"

"Not much," she told her rival, unable to keep from feeling a tang of dislike for the woman who had stolen Tim McGee's affections from her. "Just let me strangle you."

x

"Now here's where that _ba_ - guy slipped up." She took Ziva's arm and turned the woman around, getting behind her. "Now most people," she continued the lecture, feeling a little like Ducky when he got onto one of his pedantic digressions, "when they try to choke someone, go for the whole neck. They try to constrict the entire throat, and have to fight the neck muscles."

She first put her hands, then her arm, around Ziva's throat, the second time demonstrating a classic choke hold, pressing one hand with the other to tighten her elbow about the woman's neck, not letting anything show in her expression about how good it felt. She realized she'd missed the actual moment in their relationship where active dislike had turned to hatred.

"Doing that takes a _lot_ of strength," she continued, feeling she was preaching to the choir. These were all experienced Criminal Investigators; even, she had to reluctantly admit, the woman whose throat was still 'trapped' in the crook of her arm.

"But that's not how this guy did it," she emphasized, reluctantly letting go. "Now Dawn's less than an inch shorter than I am, and she says that when he pulled her backward his mouth was right at her ear, so I put him at about 5 - 11, so scrunch down." She pushed down on Ziva's shoulders, and the woman bent her knees until her ear was level with Abby's mouth.

"Now, the first thing this guy did was come up behind her and put his left hand over her mouth, pulling her backward." She did the same to Ziva. "She screamed. But he also reached around her," she continued, doing so, "and grabbed her left breast and squeezed it hard." She restrained herself from doing so, just applying half pressure, her fingernails pressing into the woman's breast. She was not at all surprised that Ziva wore no bra under her black tee shirt.

"Now Dawn could still breathe, so when he squeezed her breast he made her scream even more." Ziva obligingly 'screamed'; a quiet yell. "He made her _completely_ empty her lungs…" Ziva did so, "…and then he did _this_."

Abby's left hand slipped from Ziva's mouth, and with her thumb and first two fingers she pinched the front of the woman's throat. Instantly Ziva was silenced, her trachea closed. Her eyes bulged and she tried to draw air into her depleted lungs, but she could get nothing through the light pressure of Abby's fingers. As the others looked on in mounting concern, Ziva reached up and pulled at Abby's hand, but Abby held on firmly. "Her reaction would instinctively be to pry his hand away, so he did _this_!"

With all her strength she squeezed a crushing grip on Ziva's breast, digging her long fingernails as hard as she could into her rival. Ziva convulsed in agony, but she yanked Abby's hand from her throat and pried the other from her tortured mound, turned and slammed both hands into Abby's chest, shoving her away.

"All _right_! I _get_ it!" she exclaimed furiously. How she restrained herself from punching the woman she never knew, but Abby continued the 'lecture' as though nothing untoward had happened.

"The pain in these women's breasts confused their oxygen-depleted minds. The reflex action to break the hold strangling them was overwhelmed by the intense pain, and they lost valuable seconds struggling to break that grip on their breasts. It took about ten seconds for them, panicked, tortured and suffocated, to pass out."

Ziva, holding her breast, fought the lingering pain. Abby had dug her fingernails in very hard, and she knew her breast would be sore for hours. "You didn't have to be so demonstrative."

"Maybe not, but do you all see my point? Ninety nine point nine nines percent of people think that to strangle someone you need to go for the whole neck, maybe even with a garrote, or to hang someone. Hardly anyone knows it only takes six to eight ounces of pressure to strangle someone who can't break the hold. Best of all, there's no wheezing, no groaning, no cry for help, nothing."

"Special Ops will that method," Gibbs concluded, "SEALS, Covert Tactics. It's perfect for taking out a Sentry, or any other time you need to kill silently but not leave marks. Silence them, then move on."

"Exactly. We're looking for someone who has been trained to kill."

xx

With this much 'evidence' to tentatively support her assertion, Abby won from Gibbs a temporary approval to continue her search, using the DNA and fingerprint samples to try to find a military connection. If the link led not to Navy or Marine, but to Army or some other branch, they would call upon their appropriate counterpart agency. For now, she had her 'go', and that was all she wanted.

When her associates left, satisfied that there was at least a tenuous connection to work on, Tim McGee was the last one out. He held back long enough to lose the others at the elevator. He signaled them to depart, catching a look of lingering anger in Ziva's eyes, then returned to the Lab. Abby, her hands clasped before her, watched his approach. He came up to barely a foot from her.

"What was that all about?"

She looked down. "What was what all about, Tim?" Her evasiveness was hindered since she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She looked no higher than his cheeks, pretending to look at him while avoiding it.

"You know what. That 'demonstration'."

"I was showing how the rapist did what he did." She could only look at him for brief instants.

"That was more than demonstrating a choke hold. It looked more like you were trying to rip Ziva's breast off."

She turned away. "Don't be ridiculous, Tim."

He stepped in front of her. "Ridiculous? There was no _need_ for that demonstration at all. Everything you showed us you could have just told us."

She was still looking no higher than his chest. "Not really."

"Abby." She did not look up. "Look at me." It was several moments before she could comply. She didn't want to hold his eyes, but he compelled her to. "We've known each other too long; far too long for lies between us. I was watching your eyes. You hurt her because you _wanted_ to."

"No I didn't." But she could not hide behind a false smile of innocence. "I … I didn't." The lie grew worse the second time she tried. She stepped around him, going deeper into her lab, her sanctuary, but he took her arm, stopping her.

"Come on, Abby. We're friends. I want you to level with me." He made her turn back to him. "You two have never gotten along; so be it. If you two can't be friends, that's one thing, but the antipathy has never led to violence." She looked away. "What is it between you two?"

She turned, unable to stand the pain any longer. "You want to know what's between us, Tim? You _really_ want to know?"

"Yes, Abby, I _really_ want to know."

"All right!" She clenched the lapels of his jacket with both fists and yanked him down to her, pressing her lips to his with a vehemence that surprised both of them. She held the kiss, driving months of fiery passion and need into him. She put everything she had into it, everything she felt, everything she was and dreamed and desired and longed for.

Finally, after an eternity, she let the astonished man away, but only a few inches. "_You're_ what's between us, Tim McGee. Damn it, I _love_ you!"

x

Abby clutched his jacket so tightly her hands hurt, looking into his face, into his eyes, searching desperately. He seemed to have no words to answer her, and the seconds strained on into eternity. "Tim, I just said 'I love you'. Don't you even have anything to say to me?"

But he said nothing, completely lost for words. She could see in his eyes that he was groping; hunting for something to say, searching for something that would not hurt her. Slowly he straightened and she let him, but she kept hold of his jacket. He closed his hands gently over hers.

"Abby, I can't think of anything to say to do justice to you."

"You could say you love me." She tried not to allow a pleading tone to invade her voice, but she had shown him her naked heart, and had nothing left to defend herself with.

"Abby …" he began, so clearly searching for the right words. "I have always loved you as –."

"If you say 'as a friend' or 'as a sister' I swear I'm going to _cry_," she declared; her voice breaking.

He shook his head regretfully, not wanting to say this, not wanting to hurt her.

x

"Abby, I wish I knew what to tell you. I've always had feelings for you – but if I were to say 'if this were any other time' or 'if you'd said this two months ago', or two years – I'd only hurt you and I do not want to do that. I care about you; very, very much. I even love you. The times we shared are special to me."

"They're special to me too, Tim." But even as she looked up at him, imploring his return, she knew it wasn't going to work. They weren't going to get back what they once had, and the pain of that was worse than she'd expected.

"But I'm with Ziva now." She felt the knife twist in her heart. "I don't know where it will go. I don't even honestly know where _we_ will go, if there might be something in _our_ future. Who knows? I can't." He stopped, seeing that his efforts to ease her pain were only making it worse.

"Abby, I'm in a relationship I can't just walk away from. I really am very, very sorry. I don't ever want to hurt you – I love you too much for that – but I can't change how things are." He straightened out of her grasp. "I'm sorry."

He backed away, seeing she was at her end and not wanting her to suffer any more by losing the last of her self control in front of him. "I'm sorry."

He turned and walked away. She watched him go through the sliding glass door, and then out the stairwell door rather than up in the elevator, and felt her heart rip out of her chest in an attempt to follow him.

Turning away, she felt a tear slip down her cheek. "Ducky!" she whispered; her voice breaking. "You tried to _warn_ me." She squeezed her eyes closed, more tears tricking down her face. "Why didn't I _listen_?"

xx

Tim McGee ascended the stairs one level after another until he reached the bullpen's, his mind on the woman he'd left behind, wondering what he could have said that would have eased her pain, that could have made things better. He didn't really believe anything could.

Arriving at the Operations level, he reached for the metal door but it swung rapidly away from him and Ziva David was as surprised as he was at the close quarters encounter. The difference between them was that where he was concerned, distressed and introspective; she was furious.

The door swung closed behind her, trapping them on the small landing at the top of the stairs. Ziva was holding her hand protectively over her left breast.

x

"What's wrong?" he asked, doubting that in her burning fury he had a need to, but using it to open the conversation anyway. He knew he had taken the stairs to give himself time to think, but Ziva's appearance on these stairs was not good – they allowed more immediate access to the lab than if she had taken the elevator.

"The little bitch drew blood! I have _had_ it! I am going down there to have it out with her."

Tim quickly stepped in front of her. "Please don't." He had left Abby wounded. This wouldn't be a battle but a slaughter.

Ziva tried to step around him on the small landing. "Get out of my way."

He took a step down, and grasped both hand rails, completely blocking her. This put them eye to eye, but where his were imploring, hers were filled with a deadly fury.

"Ziva, I'm asking you: Let this go."

She was surprised, but by no means less angry. "Why?"

"Ziva, I love you. And I'm asking you. Please." He let go of the rails. They were barely three inches apart, and if she wanted to get by, she'd have to shove him down the stairs. "Let this go."

She stared intently at him, searching for some kind of answer, searching for some justification for this, or some reason to be even angrier. What had happened between them down there? "Why?"

"Please."

He gave her nothing, no clue, no reason; just and only his plea, for her to reject or not. Finally: "All right. It will not change anything."

He stepped up to her level, reached out and touched her sore breast. "I'll kiss it and make it better."

She could not help but smile at the incongruity of the offer. His palm cupping her breast did, in fact, already make her feel better. "Now that is an offer that just might be worth it."

"'Just might'?"

She grinned, allowing him to draw her closer into his arms, and even as they kissed in this 'secret' place, enjoying the spice of knowing full well that the door could open at any moment, she was sure she could count on him to keep his promise.

xxx

Hours passed. Afternoon bled into evening and darkened into night, and still Abby Sciuto worked alone in her lab, pouring over every bit of evidence she could reconstruct, looking for every clue she could, searching her memory for any tiny fragment of information she could have missed. She thought intently about the minutes she'd spent in the cabin while collecting clothes for her friend's overnight stay, searching her memory for anything she could find to help her. She had not had her camera, but she trusted the detail of her memory, and scrutinized the mental images for everything she could find which would catch this bastard.

Two tiny chimes rang virtually together, a completely unwarranted coincidence that set Abby's hopes flaring as she looked up, incipient sleep banished from her mind.

"No!" she cried. Across the screen she had pinned so many of her hopes on was a livid red bar declaring the soul stabbing proclamation 'Negative Match'.

She turned to the Electrophoresis machine. "No! No No No _No_ _**NO**_!" Her voice rose to a yell as the red bar screamed 'Negative Match' at her.

Nowhere in the Sex Crimes database; in the collective records of the Navy, Marine Corps, Army or all other branches of Military Service was there any record of the person that she hunted.

Worse than a total washout, her entire 'reprieve' had hinged upon the Military connection that could justify her assertions and her actions. Without them, the axe would fall upon her instead.

Picking up the telephone receiver, she glanced at the clock, changing her mind. Quarter after twelve. Her call of surrender to Gibbs could wait until morning. Before then, she had a more important call to make. She punched the number and listened to the ringing. This time it wasn't twenty times. "Hello?"

"Hi, Sunshine, it's me. Please, before you–" *click*.

Abby sighed despondently, the receiver slipping from her fingers to clatter onto the desk. She was too miserable to care.

xxx

Christine Martinka fought the pain as his teeth bit hard into her right breast. She refused to scream, refused to give any satisfaction to the brutal animal that lay upon her, slamming his hips into hers, invading her with bruising force, trying to hurt her as much as he could.

He'd started with a brutal punch to the side of her face as she'd stood washing dishes in her kitchen, having no idea he was there. That punch had splintered her glasses, sending them flying from her face, rendering her sightless, her vision blurred. The brutal beating that followed was only because he could pummel a blinded and defenseless woman into submission, mercilessly knocking her about the room. When he'd strangled her into unconsciousness she'd already been under him, unable to move.

She'd awoken worse than blind, head covered by a foul smelling bag, blackness being her world, wrists bound over her head and legs held far apart, the animal already within her!

But she was determined to resist him. Concentrating, she relaxed her body; relaxed the muscles deep within her, completely relaxed and made herself limp. He might take her, but she could deny him any pleasure.

He bit her breasts over and over, the pain almost breaking her concentration, but she fought it down with all the discipline she could muster. She kept herself limp, relaxed, feeling him slam into her with brutal force but giving no pressure back even in her pain. He grunted and sweated, the drops falling down upon her bare chest, but she gave him nothing but as loose a passage as she possibly could.

Finally, with a cry of frustrated lust, he pulled out of her and his hand clutched the hood she was forced to wear, wrenching it off her head, pulling several red hairs from her scalp. She squinted into the light, but without her glasses his body was just a slightly darker blur surrounded by the lighter blur of the kitchen ceiling. "_Bitch_, you lie like a fucking _rug_!"

"Just get done, will you?" she taunted. "I want to douche you out of me."

He drew back, and suddenly she felt something long and very hard shoved deep into her. This time she couldn't fight the pain of the brutal metallic invasion; writhing in panicked agony, knowing what it was. "Douche _this_!"

In the small kitchen, the explosion was deafening.


	7. Black as the Pit

Chapter Seven

Black as the Pit

The absolute blackness of the tomb surrounded Abby as she lay in silent repose, hands clasped over her stomach, in her closed coffin. Even were the lid left completely open, rather than propped open half an inch, just enough to allow air to circulate, the blackness in the bedroom would be complete. Heavy theatrical 'blackout' curtains covered the windows, kept out the minutest light.

Abby lay motionless as death, the darkness so complete behind her closed eyes that she could well be entombed, sleeping the eternal sleep. The silence was so complete even her breath would be loud in her ears, so the blaring chimes of her telephone blasted her eyes open. As the ringing continued she groaned, pushing up the lid of the coffin, shoving it aside and sitting up.

Before her now a flickering red light flashed rapidly in time to the jangling ringing, and she muttered a curse when the answering machine beside it perversely refused to intercept the intruding call. She remembered now having forgotten to turn it on.

Climbing out of the coffin with the ease of long practice, she crossed the room toward the light, the thin folds of her full length white funeral shroud fluttering teasingly about her bare body. Reaching the phone, she picked up the annoying pest, bringing the receiver to her ear.

"This is Abby Sciuto speaking to you from the grave. Wish you were here!"

"_Abby_?" The plaintive voice was heavy with tears.

"Dawn?" She touched a button on her desk, finding it from memory. The numbers 3:17 lit up in a red glow.

"Abby, I'm _sorry_! I'm really _sorry_! I didn't _mean_ to say it. Please don't _hate_ me! _Please_ don't _hate_ me! I – I was – I was…" the words dissolved into soul wounded weeping. In the background, Abby could barely hear the muted strains of Haydn's 'Symphony #104 in D minor', the lively 'Galant' style a terrible counterpoint to the woman's broken sobs.

"Hey, Sunshine, easy, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

x

Dawn's words were barely comprehensible. Between sobs she broke out her regret at hanging up so often, of accusing Abby of betraying her; her words nearly lost in a flood of grief so bitter she could barely speak. Abby pulled out a chair, sit down, let her friend continue until she wore her grief down, interjecting reassurances at intervals when she thought Dawn could hear her. It was a long time before the sobbing at the other end quieted enough for Abby to speak.

"You okay now?" she asked quietly.

"No. I'm an _idiot_. You're the one person here that I can go to and I acted like a bitch."

"No you didn't. You needed time to sort things out." She refrained from pointing out that that time didn't have to be a quarter after three in the morning.

"It was a nightmare. He was _here_ again!"

Abby's blood froze. "He was–"

"In my dream."

"Oh," she sighed, vastly relieved. She had forced the girl to go back home, alone. If anything had happened to her as a result, it would be Abby's fault. "But not real?"

"Not real, but _real_!"

"Oh." She didn't point out either that the dreams would be 'real' for a long time to come.

"I was an idiot. I should have taken your calls. I shouldn't have hung up on you."

"Look, forget all that. We're together now."

"I wish I could be–." She cut herself off. She couldn't bring herself to ask for what she most deeply wanted. Abby waited a few seconds, long enough to know her friend could not finish.

x

"Look, Dawn, things are a bit of a mess here. I'm not really sure of a lot of things." 'Like whether or not I still have a _job_.' she finished silently. "I don't know if I can have you over, or whether I'll come up there. I'll call you later this morning. There are a couple of things I have to clear up with my boss. Meantime, call me if you need to. I'll move the phone closer to the bed."

"Bed?"

She could hear the forced grin in her friend's voice as her natural personality fought to reassert itself. "Don't start, or if you come here I'll make you use the urn."

"Ha."

"Meantime, double lock all the doors, put your cell phone on 911 speed dial and keep it with you. I'll call you later this morning."

"Okay." She was about to hang up. "Abby?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you." There was more feeling in it than just the simple words.

"Like I said yesterday, 'don't thank me until you get my bill'."

"Was your boss really mad?"

"Mad doesn't cover it. Try Chernobyl."

"What did you say?"

"I told him I'd castrate him by way of his tonsils." Abby yanked the phone away in time to protect her ear from Dawn's shriek of laughter. When things quieted, she advised. "Get to sleep. Neither of us looks good with worry lines."

"Okay."

She put the phone down, but spent several moments sitting at her desk, thinking. There wasn't much to think about. She had failed, and had used up the last of her good karma. There was going to be no reprieve this time, not when she had disobeyed orders more times than she'd even counted, and violated more regulations than she thought she even knew. She had been given a measure of leeway and had utterly failed.

Well, there was only one honorable thing left to do; and sitting here was not going to accomplish it. She stood up, walking unerringly through the blackness of her room, out into her living room, finding her workstation by Scuito-radar. Sitting down, feeling the white shroud fall over her bare body, she turned on her computer.

The monitor was painfully bright.

xxx

The bullpen at 0900 hours was the antithesis of her home for Abby as she stepped off the elevator and made her way toward Gibbs' desk. It was bright with the lights of fluorescent bulbs and the glaring sunshine streaming in from the skylight; loud and bustling with morning activity and far too alive for her tastes.

Wearing a floor length dress of unrelieved black, her long black hair combed out instead of bound in her characteristic pigtails, no silver studded leather collar and no make-up beyond red, instead of black, lipstick; she seemed more funeral than when in her normal attire. Her 'normal' attire, accented with silver studs or spikes, with unexpected flashes of color or outlandish exclamations, spoke of a 'joie de vivre' that was wholly missing now. There was nothing of joy in her, only darkness and despair. As she approached the desk of the Supervisory Special Agent, she hitched the long black rope of the black purse she wore up upon her shoulder.

Leroy Gibbs looked up as she stopped before him. She was struck by his perennial appearance; gray suit jacket, slightly darker tie, white shirt that seemed pressed five minutes ago; he was every inch the 'executive' as well as the rough and ready Field Agent, all somehow comprising a single package.

She was going to miss him.

The telephone on his desk rang, but DiNozzo, across the space from him, intercepted the call, feeling the tension flowing in waves from the woman.

"Yes, Abby?" his voice was mild. With Gibbs that was sometimes a bad sign. She swallowed hard.

"Gibbs, I've come to apologize." He looked up at her quizzically. "I failed."

"You found no links to a Marine, Naval Serviceman or anyone else?"

"No." She took an almost painfully deep breath to calm her tone. "Gibbs, I disobeyed your orders. I was insubordinate …."

"Yes, you were."

"And I used Agency resources for personal purposes and violated regulations. I admit to everything." She became embarrassingly aware of the level of noise dropping around her as more and more people became aware of her words. "Gibbs, I respect you and this Agency too much to have you have to make an official action out of this, so…" She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, handing it to him.

"What's this?" he asked, opening it and starting to read. He had to squint a bit, still resisting – or denying – the growing need for glasses. She had at least used 12pt type.

"My Resignation."

x

She heard the room go utterly silent as the surrounding Agents stared, no longer even pretending not to notice. "It'll save you the trouble of firing me, or putting me on …." Her voice trailed off as he turned the paper sideways and grasped it in the middle, very slowly tearing it in half. The ripping was loud in the silence. He turned the halves and tore them as slowly into fourths, then into eighths. Then he held them fanned in his left hand, crooking his right index finger at her to compel her to bend down, so his words would carry more clearly. They did, quiet though they were in the silence, cutting through to the entire room.

"If you _ever_ give this to me again without my asking for it, I will make you _eat_ it. Understand?"

"I understand," she answered, shaken. She most emphatically did _not_.

"You followed your gut, and if anyone can appreciate that, it's me. The fact that you were wrong …" He lowered the papers off the side of the desk, and threw them into his wastebasket.

x

"Boss, I'm sorry to interrupt, but you're going to want to hear this." DiNozzo spoke up.

"What is it, DiNozzo?" He did _not_ appreciate being interrupted, but knew his Senior Field Agent wouldn't do so if it was not important; so he put his intended reprimand onto the back burner.

"That call I just took; it was for you, Abby. It rang here when you weren't down there to pick up." He directed the next to Gibbs as well. "An Instructor out of Annapolis has been found murdered. She was on furlough, rented a time-share vacation house five days ago. Last night neighbors heard what sounded like a gunshot, saw someone running away through the woods. They didn't get a good look at him, however. Victim's name is Lieutenant Christine Martinka. She was found in her kitchen, hands taped over her head, ankles taped to a mop handle."

"Don't tell me…."

"Sorry, boss. Clarkston Lakes, Virginia. State Troopers had Abby's card."

Gibbs looked up at Abby, who was staring at him, a terrible expression on her face.

x

"Gas up the truck," he said, tossing DiNozzo the keys. DiNozzo caught them on the fly, already heading for the garage. Gibbs pulled open the top drawer of his desk, pulled out his Sig and holster, secured them on his belt and the white face of the black clad woman halted him. "You all right?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "If you and the Director had just _listened_…"

"We did listen. Now we can act. Grab your gear, but do it fast. We're all going on this one." He knew that Abby could do more good laying the groundwork with the only witness they had thus far, that she could do no real work until the evidence was transported to her lab; so she might as well be the one to drive it the eighty miles. "Ziva, notify Ducky," he said as Abby ran from the room.

"Let's roll."


	8. On The Case

Chapter Eight

On the Case

It was an odd caravan that arrived at 10:30 at the guarded entrance to the Clarkston Lakes Properties, pausing at the foot of a low rise below the Administrative Offices. Abby's jet black convertible with top lowered was followed by Gibbs' deep blue Dodge Charger with David riding shotgun, followed by the black and white NCIS truck bearing DiNozzo, McGee and a full panoply of evidence gathering equipment with the black and white Medical Examiner's truck bearing Mallard and Palmer taking up the rear. The vehicles were waved to the right by the uniformed guard, ascended the short slope to the Administrative building and parked in a lot large enough to accommodate a dozen cars.

Entering the front center door of the white building, Gibbs and his three Field Agents found a room which took up most of the floor. Four desks were placed at the corners of an imaginary inner square, so there was plenty of space beyond a low wooden partition which ran two-thirds of the way across the room, high enough and wide enough to write comfortably upon. Two doors on the left wall presumably led to inner offices and a door at the rear led out to the back. That and the entrance were the only doors with windows. Several open windows let in a cheerful abundance of light and fresh air.

A large map was mounted on the right wall midway between the two right desks, and it was pierced with dozens of push pins; red, green and clear. Several filing cabinets took up most of the space along the right, left and rear walls, and in the left rear corner a white refrigerator hummed quietly. Mounted on the wall above it was an impressively large fish; while between two windows in the back of the room, nine feet above the floor, was a rifle.

Each of the desks had a computer monitor and keyboard set upon it, most of them in the corners of the desks. Only three were turned on, the forward left desk unoccupied. The computer was on the forward right desk. An air conditioner was set high up in one of the rear windows, but in the mild warmth of the morning it was turned off. The windows were opened at top and bottom, the panes converging in the middle.

x

"Can I help you?" a man dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a light blue short sleeved shirt, their version of office casual, asked as he came from behind the forward right desk. Gibbs pulled out his ID and shield, identifying himself and his team.

"Yes, you're here about Mrs. Martinka," he concluded. "Sergeant Johnson said to expect you. He and his officers are with Willie – that's Willie Morris, he's one of our Security Officers – securing the site. I'm told you're claiming jurisdiction."

"That's right. Lieutenant Martinka was an Instructor at Annapolis." He didn't dwell upon Abby's exclamation before they'd started out; that if they had acted earlier the woman might possibly still be alive. "And you are?"

"Oh, sorry, I'm Thomas Magnum." He caught DiNozzo's look. "Please don't say it."

"Never," DiNozzo assured him with a carefully straight face. The man before them was 5'5", easily 190 pounds, heading down the long slope to 50 and his pale brown hair was receding to greet an enlarging bald spot on the crown of his head.

"Anyhow, I'm the Comptroller for these properties. This is Sam Essman and Mike Parale." He indicated the two other men seated at the desks in the second 'row'. Both were younger men, dressed in attire little different than that of their boss, neat enough for casual office work yet cool enough for the occasionally sweltering summer. Gibbs looked pointedly at the fourth desk, forward left. "That's Joe Burke's; he's off today. We operate seven days a week during the late Spring through early Fall, so we're on staggered shifts."

"What can you tell us about what happened?"

"Not a whole lot. I went out there, but Sergeant Johnson wouldn't let me into the house; wanted the scene preserved, he said."

x

"What are your Security arrangements?"

"Pretty basic, actually. This whole area is posted Private Property. There's only one marked road, the way you came, but if you know your way around there's three other ways in. There's a back road to the east that lets into each of the two lakes, and then another from the hills to the west. Most people who come by, if they're expected and vouched for by a resident, get through without hassle.

"There are four Security Officers, they man the main booth and make patrols at irregular intervals. State Troopers make a pass every now and then, also at irregular intervals. These hills are State property, so we're in their jurisdiction. They're no more than ten minutes away if called, however; even if a car's no closer than the barracks.

"We employ six Lifeguards, one for each of the east and west shores of the main lake, one for the only beach on the west shore of the other lake. They alternate three and four day weeks, rotating every other. The Lifeguards check member badges when you come to the beach; you can't go onto the beach or swim if your dues aren't paid up."

"You don't get a lot of crime around here, do you?" DiNozzo observed. Magnum smiled.

"Last week on the fourth, old Mr. Kingston got loaded and got a bit loud, Morris had to go over and tell him to hush up. Ten days before that Sarah Burns locked her keys in her car. A week before that Harry Farber and Jane Kugel got into a shouting match because Farber's dog wouldn't stop barking."

"And now since Monday you have three rapes and a murder," Gibbs finished.

"And now three rapes and a murder," Magnum concluded glumly.

"What can you tell us about them?"

"You've had an Agent on two of the sites Monday and Tuesday; I'm betting you can tell me more than I can tell you. Certainly we're unprepared for any of it. The Association President, Phil Gueli, says 'cooperate, answer everything you're asked and stay out of the Trooper's way'."

x

"What do the push pins mean?" Tim asked, referring to the map on the right wall. The map was four feet high, five long and was quite detailed. It showed a large, irregularly shaped lake just right of center, with another smaller one to the left, connected by a stream that made no effort to move in a straight line. A road circled each lake, following its shape like ripples on the water, and that road followed the stream between the lakes. Several 'layers' of roads formed concentric rings further out, again following the same irregular shape. Only the roads that spread outward from the lakes like the spokes of a wheel and connected the outer roads showed any effort at making straight lines.

With a brief gesture, Magnum invited the Agents into the 'office', and they gathered about the huge map. "You're looking across, South to North. East is bottom. That's us," he pointed to the far right, where they could see the irregular inner 'circle' of the innermost road vectored to the feeder road at the guard house, with the Administration building furthest to the right.

"The lakes were first formed more than half a century ago, manmade, and the area was opened for development. It immediately became almost exclusively summer residence, people wanting to get away from the city, families primarily. The roads were plowed with the intent of leaving considerable untouched area in between. The intent was to put in about 12 to 16 houses edging each 'block', 3 to 4 to a side with plenty of space in between, and the inner area untouched. The average size property is about a quarter of an acre.

"For about twenty years property was sold off and single family homes built, mostly all wood, sometimes even using the native timber. We got about forty percent of the area sold when the Recession hit and nobody was buying or building vacation homes anymore. By the time things picked up again the residents already here decided they liked things just as they are, and formed a Property Owners' Association. People _could_ buy and build, but they made it bloody hard to do so. I think three houses have gone up in the past six years.

"The planned 12 to 16 on a block never materialized; finally the owner just chucked it, the Property Owners Association bought him out about ten years ago and they've run things ever since. Most of the 'blocks' have maybe 8 houses if they're lucky, some have less than 6, a few have none.

"The young parents with young children eventually retired, and converted the houses to 'year round', putting in heat as well as AC. Those who didn't stay, many of them rent out. Now the red pins, they're full timers; either retired originals, their kids or people who bought the homes from the original owners and work in the surrounding towns. The greens," there were less of them, "are summer vacation homes that were never converted. They're shut down over the winter. We check in every now and then, to make sure everything's all right.

"The ones with the red circles about the property are 'time shares'. We manage the property and send the owners the rent, less commission. We also manage repairs and upkeep, again at the owners' expense, sometimes the renter's if they cause damage or do anything that's not in the lease. About a ninth of the properties are 'time shares'. The red pins are presently occupied – they can go anywhere from a week through the full summer. The clear pins are available; we have nine properties at the moment that are still open for lease."

x

Gibbs was glad the man was like his fictional namesake in one respect at least. He knew his job and was able to present his facts cogently. He wished that certain of his colleagues would learn from that example.

"Where did the attacks occur?" Ziva asked.

"The first one, Caldwell, was down here." He indicated a green pin three roads downward from the eastern shore of the main lake. It was several inches to the left of the road that radiated out from the beach. "The second, Higgins, was here." He pointed to a red pin one 'layer' away from the main road, closer to the lake but in the same direction off the 'spoke'. "Last night's, Martinka, is up there." He pointed to a red circled red pin in the upper left corner of the large lake, three roads in from the south west.

"That's a considerable distance." Gibbs pointed out.

"Tell me about it. Caldwell and Higgins are just over a hundred yards away from each other; Martinka's time share is over a mile as the crow flies."

"Turn right at the guard post," Gibbs concluded.

Magnum stepped over to the partition, which from this side could be seen to contain numerous stacks of papers of various shapes and colors. He drew out four folded maps, opened them and marked an X on each. "42 Greenwood. You can't miss it."

"Thank you, Mr. Magnum. We'll be back."

"I'll be here," he assured them, not sounding happy about it.

xxx

Dawn Caldwell got up from the living room couch, using the remote control to turn off the television backed by the wall to her bedroom. There was nothing on that could engage her interest. She looked at the clock next to the refrigerator in the kitchen, wishing Abby would call. She had promised she would call this morning.

She had _promised_!

Dawn looked down at herself, detesting the sight. She still wore her pajamas, which hung about her body in a wrinkled mass. She'd spent the night of doing nothing but tossing and turning, a night broken by nightmare after nightmare until she'd broken, sobbing to the friend she'd said she'd never wanted to see again.

She thought of getting dressed and going outside, but a stab of fear stopped her. _He_ was out there. He'd attacked her in broad daylight, so the outside is not safe.

Maybe if she had breakfast.

She turned to the kitchen, but the fear made her look at the spot on the floor where he had held her down, tied and helpless while he–. She felt a stab of pain between her legs as the image assaulted her.

She couldn't go to the kitchen, couldn't pass that spot. Never again. _Never_.

Suddenly furious at the growing fear, she turned around and switched on the stereo next to the television. The gentle strains of the 'Blue Danube Waltz' filled the room.

This was the very passage at which she had been grabbed. She'd come in off the porch and suddenly his hand was over her mouth, his other crushing her breast, hurting her, smothering her.

The lovely melody replayed her _rape_!

"No!" she cried, hot tears assaulting her. "_No_!" This was _her_ music. Hers! Not his – _hers_. She screamed her denial over and over, falling to her knees in misery. Music was her refuge, her pleasure, her joy; and all she could feel now was his hands on her, his penis hurting her, stealing her life, her joy!

She screamed in heartbroken misery, falling to the floor, wailing in torment and pain as the Waltz continued, never again to be a source of joy and beauty and love.

Now it would always invoke despair and pain and fear. Unable to rise, unable to turn it off, she lay upon the cold linoleum floor, trembling in terror as she felt his hands again invade her, hurt her. She screamed, sobbing in misery that would never end.

Never end.

Never end.

xxx

The 'caravan', minus Abby's convertible, was remade. Rather than aggravating the local or State Police unnecessarily, at Gibbs' direction - hardly necessary - she was to turn left and go to Caldwell's home instead of to the site of the most recent attack.

The caravan turned off the main road at the first opportunity, and progress along thickly tree lined dirt packed roads was at a sedate 25 miles per hour; atypical for Gibbs, who wanted a few minutes to absorb what he had seen. He also wanted to absorb his surroundings. These people lived in an environment far removed from that of the city in fact and mentality, so it was important to him to be able to think as they did. Here doors remained unlocked. Here no one locked their cars. Here a knock on the door wasn't a reason to reach for a weapon.

The perp had been reported as having made his escape through the woods, so he wanted to get a sense of what he was dealing with. He had had McGee check his laptop on the way out; last night had been overcast in these hills.

With Ziva holding the map as 'navigator', he led the way south along the road that circled the huge lake, three 'blocks' inward so the lake could be seen only at brief intervals down the hill when crossing a straight east to west road. He didn't look at the surrounding 'blocks' of untouched woodland, except in the abstract, getting the feel of the area without looking for anything in particular. He was more concerned with the many questions crowding his mind; not the least of them being the distance he had to cover.

He didn't like the fact that both of the first attacks – strike that, the first reported attacks – took place virtually next to each other, separated by a barely four minute walk, while the third was in a Time Share almost as far away as it could get while still being on the same development.

No, he definitely didn't like it.

For an Agent famous for following the direction of his 'gut', this felt completely wrong. Unfortunately, his 'gut' didn't give him true insight into what was wrong. Just that it was.

Gibbs' car drifted into place near a State Troopers' silver grey Patrol Car.

x

The arrival of so many distinctive vehicles couldn't go unnoticed either by the LEOs inside or by those neighbors who looked on curiously from their lawns. Widespread as the single story wooden buildings were, there were only four on the facing 'blocks'; one on either side of the house that was their destination, one across the road and fifty feet to the right.

"What do you think the chances are of getting eyewitness accounts?" DiNozzo asked, looking at the surrounding onlookers.

"I don't know, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "Why don't you find out?"

"Right, boss." Too late he remembered the military credo: 'Never volunteer'. Or, in this case, the Gibbs credo: 'Never sound like a smart ass'.

The other Agents started across the lawn toward the pale blue house to meet the uniformed Trooper who had come out of the left side door.

xx

Troopers Hammell and Bondy had secured the scene in anticipation of their own Forensics Team. But when they discovered not only a disturbing similarity to two earlier cases but an ID indicating that the victim was a Naval Officer, they had been instructed to hold the scene. Someone else would take charge.

Chief Grimby wasn't pleased, but he had already had one conversation with NCIS' Director. While it aggravated him to have to take second place to a 'foreign power', there was nothing he could do. To oppose them would cause more headaches than he cared to endure. Faced with opposition that occasionally fought the FBI itself to a standstill, he decided it was better for his persistent ulcer to swallow this along with his Mylanta.

After introductions, while his team spread out to do their jobs, Gibbs questioned the Troopers.

"We suspect she had been having a late night snack, and was just cleaning up." Bondy pointed to the dishes in the sink, and to the one that remained on the table in the middle of the room. The sink faced the small open window which looked out to the neighboring house and had a broken glass in it. "The water was running when we arrived; I used a handkerchief and turned it off. The back door was ajar. It must have been a hell of a surprise when he came up behind her while she was washing up. It looks like he killed her, then left through the back again."

"Neighbors heard a single shot about one this morning." Hammell reported. "The Kings, on the left, their bedroom faces this house. They were awake, but busy." Gibbs restrained a smile. "They hadn't finished their … business … when they heard what they say sounded like an explosion." He looked around the small kitchen. The size of the room would serve to contain and magnify the sound before projecting it toward the neighboring house through the open window at his right.

"By the time either reached a window they could barely make out a black shape in the darkness running from the back door to the woods behind the house. Moonlight was barely bright enough to detect movement, not enough for any identification."

"Running?" Gibbs looked back out the front door beside him. The entire area was notable for the absence of street lights. "Were the lights on in back?"

"No, sir," Hammell assured him. "None of the three houses on this side of the road had any outside lights on. Those woods would have been black as pitch."

"And yet the witnesses say whoever it was, was running?"

"Flat out."

He refrained from saying anything but stepped toward the back door and peered through the glass. The yard was about thirty feet, and then the woods formed a barrier to any real speed. Night vision goggles would certainly help, but that would be drawing unwarranted conclusions. He didn't want assumptions.

x

The side door opened into the kitchen; and beyond the closed door across the room were the living room and other areas. The kitchen was adequate for a small family. The floor was white linoleum, the appliances off-white with age. The shelves were stocked with jars of various spices and condiments, and over the sink the small window was edged with a flowered white curtain. "Was this closed when you came?"

"Open."

"So the people next door could have seen in if the light was on."

"They could, but they say there was nothing to see."

The size of the window limited the neighbors' view too severely. Gibbs looked at the far wall, where the door led to the rest of the house. All of the damage to the room was to either side. The blood spatter from the gunshot didn't ascend highly, though there was spatter and smears on the wall, possibly from the extensive assault. They must determine if any of the blood is the perp's.

Several of the side shelves were knocked off their mountings; jars and bowls and other small objects littered the floor, some broken, some intact. The table in the middle of the room had held a bowl of fruit; that bowl was broken, the fruit scattered about the room. One of three chairs surrounding the table was on its back on the floor. All the walls, fixtures and appliances in the room were splattered and smeared with blood.

While Tim and Ziva examined the area, methodically marking, photographing and logging everything that lay upon the floor, as well as the blood stains on walls and other surfaces, Ducky and Jimmy Palmer prepared to approach the body.

Both the Field Agents carefully avoided looking at the body on the floor behind them. When they had entered, Ziva had seen the horrible wound viciously inflicted upon the woman and had paled. Despite all she had seen in her long and hard career, there were some things so personal they chill the soul.

Tim didn't speak to Ziva, recognizing she had carefully closed off her feelings, and he would not undermine her careful control. It was best to concentrate strictly upon business, and bury feelings before they arose to betray.

"Agent Gibbs," Trooper Bondy looked over or past, not at the woman who lay on the floor. He had been here for some time, but there were some horrors that didn't fade easily. "I know you're in charge of this one, but if at all possible I want to be there when you catch this animal."

"No promises, Officer Bondy." He looked down at the stomach turning sight, the bound woman splayed out obscenely on the linoleum floor, the blood pooled between her legs. "But I'll see what I can do."


	9. The Horror That Never Ends

Chapter Nine

The Horror that Never Ends

Lieutenant Christine Martinka lay on her back on the white linoleum, hands crossed high over her head. Her wrists were encased in thick silver electrical tape, which bound her to the leg of the heavy table that dominated the room. She had been beaten severely, her housedress shredded from her bruised and bloody body. Her legs were spread, her ankles taped to the ends of the long handle of a broom. Her body was mottled with livid bruises that contrasted sickeningly with her white skin, that terrible paleness of flesh that comes with almost total exsanguination. Her blood, all of it that was not upon several wounds on the front of her body or splattered about the room rested in a three foot wide pool between her spread legs.

She stared at the ceiling, face fixed in terror. There were numerous and deep lacerations to both her breasts.

There was relatively little lividity and it was already fixed. The back of her body was blue/purple from her disheveled red hair to her heels, giving a terrible contrast with her white skin and red stained flesh.

Ducky and Jimmy donned blue elastic coverings over their shoes, more to protect the integrity of the blood than to guard their shoes. Ducky turned to Ziva. "Are you finished?"

"Go ahead," she said, looking back over her shoulder at him from where she crouched near the door across the room, camera held at ready. She had carefully circled the body first, taking a score of pictures from every angle, before the others could do their work. "I'm done."

Mallard and Palmer stepped carefully with wide paces, trying to disturb as little of the potential evidence as possible. Palmer held the black medical bag containing what Mallard would need. Gibbs watched them for as few moments, and then approached David. "What have you got?"

x

There was a pair of silver framed glasses laying half closed near the refrigerator to their left. The thick lenses were not damaged, but the frame was badly bent; the left side was open and would not close properly again. The left side of the frame was broken; the lens would probably not 'survive' the glasses being moved. "Very thick lenses. They look like they were knocked off."

"I'd say she was washing the dishes, heard a noise, turned to her left and was struck from behind." Tim theorized. "The impact would then wind them up in this corner."

"Quite right." Ducky confirmed from behind them. "The skin behind her left ear is scraped, and there is a bruise on her left temple." This wound, like so many others, had been formed before death.

"If these were knocked off," Ziva speculated, noting the thickness of the lenses, "she would have been pretty well blind. I am sure Abby can tell us how much vision she would have had, but she would have been very much at a disadvantage."

Tim stood above the crouching Agents, his eyes taking in the entire room. "It looks as though she was knocked all about the room, but it doesn't look like she put up a fight."

"Again, quite right," Ducky confirmed. "There are no defensive wounds on the hands. While I'm sure our Lieutenant would have been well trained, that only accounts for so much in a fight if you cannot _see_ your opponent."

"Any idea how she died?" Gibbs asked, rising and turning to the Medical Examiner. Before Ducky could answer, he turned to McGee. "Check the back, find some tracks."

"Right, boss."

"If he did come in and out there, we can hope he was in enough of a hurry this time to leave some trace."

He turned back to Mallard and Palmer. "I'd like you to check all the blood in this room. Is it all hers?"

"Right, Jethro."

Gibbs did not believe he would get so lucky. The perp had worn latex gloves at both of the previous assaults; so it would not be very likely they would get any evidence of offensive wounds. They could hope….

"At the moment," Ducky replied to the earlier question, withdrawing a long sharp thermometer from the side of the woman's body, "I can put the time of death at approximately eight to twelve hours ago." That concurs with witness testimony. "I also know how she died."

His old friend's tone made Gibbs sure he didn't want to ask.

"She died from a single gunshot wound. The gun," Ducky lowered his hand toward her hips, "was forcibly inserted into her vagina and fired."

He glanced up at the team, and the distress in his eyes told them far too clearly that the horror was yet to be told. When he caught a glimpse of Ziva, holding herself stonily unresponsive, he did not want to continue. "Apparently she was aware, for her body was arched slightly. The bullet," he raised his hand above her abdomen; then continued an inexorable upward path, "passed through her pelvis and exited the small of her back. It then traveled roughly parallel to the floor. When convulsed, pressure from the back of her head raised her upper body. The bullet re-entered at the base of her skull, destroyed the medulla oblongata; that area of the brain that controls autonomic functions such as respiration and heartbeat. It then tore through her brain," he inspected her red haired scalp, "and I think we shall find it lodged in the interior of her skull."

He looked over his shoulder at them, his eyes haunted. "Death would have been instantaneous."

xxx

Abby Sciuto parked her car outside the white trimmed blue bungalow and paused. There had been little time to alert her friend that she was coming. It would have been cruel to call her from the road and then not be able to see her, so it was only in the few minutes since leaving the Administration building's parking lot that she knew for certain that she was coming here directly. Immediately she rejected the thought of honking the horn as well as going to the door and knocking. She knew all too well the many forms of trauma suffered by rape victims; the time she'd spent last night on the phone with her sobbing friend had been illustration enough of the young woman's condition. She didn't want to make matters worse by scaring her.

Getting out of the car, she crossed the lawn to the screen door blocking the white wooden one, and from her purse she drew out her cell phone. Through the door before her as well as through the windows she could hear the filtered strains of Tchaikovsky.

She listened to the buzzing in her ear and the simultaneous ringing of the phone near the door. The dual signals sounded for a long time before she heard movement from within. The motion stopped by the door, but it was five more rings before the connection was made.

//Hello?// Her small voice was as flooded with apprehension as any horror movie heroine's.

"Sunshine, it's me."

//_Abby_?// she gasped, desperate hope in her breath. //You _promised_ you'd call this _morning_!// Abby glanced at her watch. It was barely 11:00. She wondered how long her friend had been up for 11:00 to seem so late. Probably she had not gone back to bed either.

"Sorry, girlfriend, I couldn't get to a phone before this – so I did the next best thing."

//What?// Dawn asked fearfully.

"Open your door."

x

There was a long pause before the odd instruction registered, and she heard the lock turn both through the phone and in real time. The door slid open with a sigh and Dawn stood staring at her, dumbfounded. //Abby?// she asked into the phone.

"Hi, Sunshine." Abby answered her in kind. "Can I come in?"

Dawn backed up, letting her open the screen door and cross into the house. Dawn stared at her as though seeing a ghost. Her eyes were haunted, her face drawn, her long blonde hair a disheveled mess and blue/grey bags weighted each eye. Her pink pajamas were rumpled about her body.

"Girl, you're a _mess_." Abby chided her, closing and putting her phone back into her black purse.

"Abby?" Dawn asked in a tiny voice drowning in disbelief.

"Yes, it's me," she assured her with a smile. "In the Goth flesh."

"ABBY!" She shrieked, dropped the phone with a clatter and threw her arms about her friend, clung so tightly Abby could barely breathe as she worked her jaw to help clear her half-deafened ears. Dawn embraced her as though she were the drowning woman's life-ring, starting to sob in mixed grief and relief.

Abby let her have about ten seconds of this, about the time when oxygen was becoming an issue, then gently but firmly pushed her back, holding her at arms' length.

From the stereo in the living room the soft melody of Dvorak's String Quartet #12 in F major, opus 96 began. She recognized the work by name as well as Dawn would. She could not remember a time when her friend was not surrounded by such works.

Dawn's eyes were red from tears and lack of sleep, her body trembling in her wrinkled pink pajamas. "Girl, you are a _mess_," she told her again. "When's the last time you ate or slept?"

"What's today?"

She didn't like that question. "Wednesday."

"I ate Monday morning before … but I threw that up when I got myself untied." she admitted shamefully. "I slept that night on your couch – for a few hours."

"All right. First thing; get out of this junk and into a shower. I'll not have you going about looking like the walking dead; that's _my_ job. Come on." She pushed her toward the bathroom to their left, next to the porch door. "Meantime, I'm making breakfast."

The manner was so familiar, so deeply engrained into each of them, that Dawn automatically started to obey the firm orders before she stopped, coming back to herself, turning to her old friend. "Abby?"

"Get moving, kid," she ordered as firmly. "Remember, I'm _still_ getting $7 an hour."

x

While she waited, Abby searched the cupboards and refrigerator, assembling a suitable breakfast of eggs, sausage and juice. When she closed the refrigerator door, she noticed a card standing upon the white appliance. It was hand drawn, created from a folded sheet of construction paper, the front done in crayon. It depicted a red heart with unknown decorations curling about it. Curious, Abby took it off the refrigerator and opened it. Inside, it was 'addressed', in multihued crayons, to 'Miss Caldwell, St. Alphonsus School, K1' Across the 'splash page' it said, in all the colors of the rainbow: 'I love you. Jimmy.'

It didn't need to say more.

Abby put it back atop the refrigerator, and when she turned around she noticed something that had escaped her attention earlier, intent as she had been on her friend. On tables, on bookcases, on the stereo, the television, on speakers, on apparently every horizontal surface in the large room stood a folded card. All stood freely, some portrait, some landscape, in construction paper of every hue, done in crayon, paint, pencil, marker, brush, finger and the free imagination of the uninhibited young.

Picking up the closest, she read it, then another, and another, slowly traversing the room. They were from Francine and Christopher and Alexandra and Nicole and Robert and Terry and Matthew and Brenda and Katie Rose and Michael and Rachael and Rosemary and … and each one of them was the simple, heartfelt words of a child to his or her favorite teacher. Those that were dated were from the last day of school, the last day they would see their beloved teacher, or so they thought. Some contained happy faces, some tear stains, and Abby had a lump in her throat and blurred vision through moist eyes long before she was done.

These were the utterly unreserved expressions of love and affection, in the way only a small child could offer them.

Holding the last one in her hand, Abby turned around as she heard the bathroom door open, seeing Dawn come out wearing a red robe, toweling her hair dry. "You are so _lucky_!" Dawn stopped, surprised until she realized the meaning behind Abby's words. "They love you so much."

"And I love them. Two years at St. Al's; two sets of twenty. I hated to have it end. It was like saying 'goodbye' to my children." She picked up one of the cards, opened and looking at it fondly, her fingertip lovingly tracing the words. "But when I get back in September they'll be in first and second grades, and I'll have a new set of children to love."

"I think I'd love to have children," Abby said, watching her friend. "What's it like to have forty?"

Dawn turned to her, and her smile was more radiant than Abby had seen it in a long time.

"Heaven on Earth."

xx

When Dawn, her still damp hair 'turban wrapped' in a red towel, faced her across a table set half way between the kitchen and living room, she looked far more normal than she had half an hour before.

She now wore blue slacks and a white blouse buttoned tight to her neck but left out of her waistband so that it would help to hide her figure. The younger woman seemed to be going out of her way to choose attire that would not only cover her from neck to toe, but hide her figure as well.

It was rather warm for so much clothing, especially without an air conditioner, but Abby refrained from pointing this out. She'd tried leaving the front and back doors open to let in the nature scented breeze, but Dawn had closed and locked them without a word immediately after coming out of the bathroom.

The table was directly inward from the front door and was laden with scrambled eggs, sausage and juice.

On the stereo the comforting piano melody of Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' formed a relaxing background and the two women simply ate, listened, and tried to forget horror.

Abby didn't know how hard it had been for her friend to leave the stereo on, to force herself to hear beauty rather than torment, to feel joy rather than terror, to force herself to recapture the joy that was hers, not to allow him to steal this from her.

This music was hers. _Hers_. She would not give it up. She would _die_ before she gave it up.

x

Partway through the five minute 'interlude', Dawn reached across the table and took her dark friend's hand. "Abby, thank you. Really."

"I told you; don't thank me." Sciuto grinned. "Between gas, sitting charges and professional fees, you're going to go bankrupt."

"Abby, please stop," she implored, her voice threatening to break.

"Okay, honey, you want the truth?" She reached across the table, taking her friend's hand now in both of hers. "You're my sister. I would drop everything in a heartbeat to help you." She squeezed Dawn's hand. "I love you, Sunshine."

"And I love you too," she said, but then sighed feelingly. "And I'm really _sorry_ I called you all those horrible names and cursed at you so much."

Abby was slightly lost. "You didn't curse at me or call me any–"

"You weren't here," she admitted sheepishly. Abby patted her hands.

"All is forgiven."

x

"But what are you doing here? I mean, you must have the most incredible boss in the world who lets you drop everything three times in a row just to take care of me."

"Oh, he's something else, all right." She smiled, but couldn't hold it. "Unfortunately, I'm not 'dropping' anything this time. The truth, honey, is that we're here on business. All of us."

The momentary pleasure Dawn felt was obliterated by the realization of the import of her friend's words. "Tell me," she said, steeling herself.

Abby didn't want to, but there was no way to hide the news. "He's struck again, on the other side of the lake. This time it was a Navy Lieutenant, so that's got us out here officially. No more worries about 'jurisdiction'."

"Is she okay?" Dawn asked in a small voice, horror robbing her.

Abby shook her head sadly.

"He killed her."

Dawn stared at Abby for several moments, motionless, the blood draining from her face. Abby watched a sheen of perspiration appear on the girl's pale face and suddenly Dawn leapt to her feet, her chair crashed to the floor as she clamped her hand over her mouth and ran past Abby, charged for the bathroom door several feet away. She got inside, slammed the door shut, and the horrible sounds of violent retching cut through the wood.

Abby stared at the door for several moments, every violent eruption tearing at her conscience. 'Moonlight Sonata' faded away, leaving only the sounds of sickness and torment. She turned to the half empty plates before her, wishing she had kept her mouth shut.

"Gibbs, the next time you smack me," she whispered guiltily, "you use a _hammer_!"

xxx

It was well after two in the afternoon when Gibbs' Charger and the black and white NCIS truck climbed the eight foot rise to the driveway to the Administration building. The 'Black Mariah', as DiNozzo was wont to call it, continued on the road toward the Interstate. The work of the Medical Examiners would continue in Washington, but the Field Agents would need something more local.

When Gibbs, David, McGee and DiNozzo entered the white building, it cannot be said that Thomas Magnum was happy to see them. "What can I do for you?" he asked, approaching the partition. He really wanted to ask about the crime scene, and was going out of his way to avoid, as much as possible, doing so. He really didn't want to know.

Unlike his fictional namesake, he wanted to leave the detective work to these people and Tom Selleck.

"We'll need a place to set up a temporary Headquarters. One of your 'Time Share' properties."

"Any particular one?"

Gibbs shook his head. It was all the same to him. "Somewhere between the sites."

Magnum refrained from pointing out that that covered a lot of territory. He went over to his desk and called up a program on his screen. After a few moments he looked up at the four. "I can let you have G19; it's not booked for another week."

"Fine."

"I'll need a high speed Internet connection," McGee interjected. Magnum hesitated.

"This isn't Washington. I don't know if that place is cable-ready. If by 'high speed' you mean 56kps, I can help you."

McGee tried not to let his thoughts show past his affable smile. 56k was an electronic Galápagos turtle. "Fine."

Magnum came out from behind his desk. "G19 it is then. That usually rents for four hundred a week, but I can…" his voice trailed off as he caught Gibbs' look. When he'd woken this morning, he'd known this was going to be a rotten day. "Not renting?"

"It's called 'commandeering of resources'." Seeing the man's barely contained distress, he didn't have the heart to continue. "Of course it's a rental – but since the voucher will have to come through the government…."

"I'll be old and gray before I see the money."

"Not really, but you could get a good start on a beard." But even as he said it, he shook his head. "Don't worry, you'll get the money. Now, I need a list of your tenants, starting with the first three and working up from there. Everything you can give me."

Magnum hesitated. 'Everything' could run into a lot of privacy issues. But…. "You'll have it. Just catch this guy. People are getting scared; word's spreading like wildfire. I'm getting calls from people asking what we're doing to stop this bastard. People are demanding we call a special meeting of all the property owners, come clean on everything."

"Where would you have it?"

"The 'Club House'." He indicated on the map a single property on the road which ran next to the stream that connected both lakes. "It's the only place big enough."

"Call it." Gibbs advised without hesitation. "If there are any more women living alone out here, they deserve to know, so they can make plans to protect themselves."

It felt good to make such a call without having Director Shepherd or NCIS policy makers second guessing him in the field.

"Is this going to get worse?" Magnum asked apprehensively.

"Ya think?" Normally he wouldn't give out details, but Magnum would learn them and will be more cooperative if he knew that "Monday morning he assaulted a young woman and raped her, but didn't do _too much_ damage otherwise. Yesterday he not only raped a woman, using an identical M.O., but beat her so badly he put her in the hospital. This morning he used a nearly blind woman as a punching bag, raped her, shoved a gun between her legs and blew her brains out.

"So you tell me: Think it's gonna get worse?"


	10. Investigations

Chapter Ten

Investigations

"As soon as you finish unpacking the truck," Gibbs told his team when they'd entered the green bungalow set at the top of a small rise off the main road, "Ziva, interview this Dawn Caldwell." He placed McGee's laptop onto the living room table and turned on the light over it. The four maps he set beside it had identical markings showing the locations of all three crime scenes. "Probe everything, especially what Abby hasn't told us."

The woman nodded silently. There had probably been a great deal withheld and she didn't think Abby was going to be the best witness.

"DiNozzo, you take Higgins' place; photos and sketches. Go over it with a fine tooth comb. I want you in and out before State Police know you were there. Then drive to the hospital and interview her. McGee, get on this thing and get me everything there is on all three victims."

For the nth time he wished he still had the late Caitlin Todd on his team. She was the 'profiler', and he could certainly use her skills now. Their quarry, whoever he was, grew more bold and violent by the day. Gibbs was certain that, when he struck again, he would leave a bloody trail of dead women behind him.

Presently the team's 'jurisdiction' extended only to Lt. Christine Martinka. He had to know everything that the State Police knew, and more - preferably without getting their backs up by asking. At the moment, the NCIS team had the advantage of being on the spot, where the Troopers didn't have the resources to stake out any of three crime scenes and attend to an entire county. They were also more maneuverable than the LEOs. He would take advantage of all that.

"What are you going to do, boss?" DiNozzo asked.

"I'm going back to Martinka's place, walk the grounds again. Despite eye-witnesses, no one runs through the woods at one in the morning on a cloudy night without a flash."

xx

A half hour later Gibbs stood in the yard behind the pale blue structure, digital camera in hand, looking at the trees and branches and shrubbery that tried to encroach upon the tended lawn. It took little more than a few seconds to locate disturbed leaves, and thin pliable branches that did not quite lay exactly as untended nature intended them to. Certain blades of grass were flattened and a single leaf torn by a foot as the runner passed over it.

Snapping picture after picture, he decided he had to give grudging admiration to his quarry. A city dweller, faced with this much obstacle, would have torn a path through the brush that a veritable blind man could read. As it was, no one could make the journey perfectly, but evidence of his passage had certainly been kept to a minimum.

Satisfied he had everything in the camera's memory that he needed from the yard, he stepped in carefully, continuing to photograph as he went. Every few feet he stopped and checked the side of the house to his left, where the witnesses, interrupted in fragrante dilecto, had watched the killer's retreat. When he could no longer see their window for the brush about him he stopped, looked about and smiled.

There, on the ground before him, was the prize.

Some time during the night, hidden yards from the house wherein his unsuspecting victim lived, the brutal rapist had paused, crouching low to the ground, waiting for some unknown moment of opportunity. He'd knelt on one knee and pressed the impression of that knee into the leaves. And in this time of preparation and anticipation this so careful rapist, who used latex gloves to hide fingerprints, a condom to withhold DNA samples and a black hood to blind his victims, also steadily drove into the ground the perfect imprint of the sole of his left sneaker.

Snapping picture after picture, Gibbs covered this spot and the entire area. He didn't have to pursue his quarry through the woods. Certainly, when he thought he was out of sight his run had turned to a careful walk, but Gibbs had what he needed.

Starting back to his car, careful not to disturb anything, he put the camera back into his pocket and pulled out his keys, selecting the one for his trunk. Very shortly, armed with a bottle of water, a spoon, a mixing bowl and a box of plaster of Paris, he would have his man.

xxx

"I don't want to upset you." Ziva David assured the blonde woman as she sat in a chair pulled up to and facing the couch in the living room, as unthreatening and unintimidating an expression on her face as she could manage. The couch looked toward the television, while behind it a large picture window provided an ample view of the front of the property and the packed dirt road. Ziva tried to ignore the music of Mozart's 'Symphony #40 in G minor', the sharp notes threatening to become distracting. Her hostess had not agreed with her suggestion to turn off the music, her shaken head a passive but firm denial. She didn't know the girl was 'recapturing' her music, and would never willingly be without it again. It was not going to be the melody of her rape – it was the essence of her joy in life – and it was hers!

Dawn, wearing a long white dress now because her former clothes had been ruined, had the front buttoned right up to her neck, cuffs buttoned at her wrists and a fan blowing to compensate for the full clothing. She sat on the couch facing her, clasped hands closing spasmodically against one another, over and over. She held them, not on her lap, but close to her stomach. She sat pressed back into the cushions, still unable to prevent her body language from screaming distrust and apprehension. The large window behind her let in plenty of light, but her soul seemed mired in darkness.

Abby sat on the couch beside her, close enough to be reassuring, but not touching her. She held still, not doing anything in word or body to influence her friend in any way. Ziva couldn't help but be stricken by the contradiction between the white clad blonde beauty and the dark Goth girl beside her.

"I know it is going to be difficult, but I need you to tell me, in as much detail as you can, everything you can remember about that morning."

"I've spent the past two days trying to forget." Her voice was low, barely above a whisper, and she could meet Ziva's dark eyes for only a second at a time. "Every time I think of it I can feel his slimy hands on me. Those gloves he wore make my skin crawl. I can't sleep because he comes to me in my dreams and does it again. I can't eat – every time I try it just comes back up. I can't go out because he's out there. I can't stay in because I'm not safe here. The only time I was _safe_ was in Abby's apartment…."

Ziva could not restrain a smile at the thought of anyone considering herself 'safe' in the reputed mausoleum that the dark woman called an 'apartment'. She had heard stories about the place and she had no desire to go there. She watched Abby reach out and touch Dawn's arm with her hand. The girl clutched it in what must have been a painfully tight grip, hanging on as though it was her only chance for salvation.

Ziva wished the Goth Princess would leave and let her conduct the … she almost thought 'interrogation', but it was not. It was an 'interview', and maybe Abby's presence could be in some way beneficial – if the girl had enough _sense_ to keep her mouth _shut_!

x

Ziva saw Caldwell recoil, pressing further back into the couch, and realized some of her thoughts must have shown on her face, a hardening of her features. She forced herself to relax, to adopt a calm and non-threatening aspect, to separate what that brutal rapist they hunted had done to this girl from what she would do to Abby.

"I am not going to lie to you. You are going to have these feelings, and these fears, for a long time to come."

"Thanks so much," Dawn said, trying to manage a smile, but it was gone even before fully born.

"There is one way to fight it and win – and that is to take back your life, to take charge of your life, and to put this bastard into the ground."

"Not behind bars?" Dawn seemed shocked by the bald statement. It was not what she had expected from a Law Enforcement Officer. The woman had identified herself as 'Officer'; not 'Agent', David; so this stand was slightly more confusing.

"If that's what you wish. Personally, I would kill the bastard."

"I'd _love_ to," she said feelingly.

"The best way to do that, to take him out of this life, is to remember, now, everything you can about him. Everything we can use to match up with his other victims, and catch him."

"Yes!" Dawn exclaimed with a burst of passion, almost leaping forward. "I want him caught. I want to _get_ him, to … to …" She looked at Abby for help. "To…" She looked at Ziva, sensing a darker soul, but though she floundered helplessly she could not come up with a word, with a concept, with anything to put thought and intent into the desire.

There was no violence in her heart. She didn't know hatred, nor revenge. It wasn't a part of her life. She could not remember a time when there had ever been. Now when she really _wanted_ it, she couldn't find any.

xxx

"What a waste." Jim Palmer could not keep the observation to himself as he looked down through the protective plastic mask he wore at the nude figure upon the Autopsy table. The woman's body was chalk white from the near total loss of blood, save for the dark mottling that spotted her flesh, every mark a testament to pain. "He sure worked her over."

"That he did, Mr. Palmer," Ducky conceded, his own voice slightly muffled by his own plastic face shield. "That he did." He turned on the large lamp and light flooded the body. "Worse than the bruises inflicted long enough before her death to be all too apparent are these wounds to her breasts. Note the distinctive shape of the 'teeth'."

"The plastic ones Abby celled us about on the way out."

"Indeed." While he was not sanguine about the woman's use of a 'cellular conference call' on the long trip to Virginia, it had at least brought the entire team up to speed on the case. The marks on the Lieutenant's breasts were deep indentations of mass produced false teeth marketed mostly in novelty stores as 'Vampire-' or 'Werewolf Fangs'. They had been altered to remove the 'fangs' in the upper and lower jaws, so they left deep indentations of round holes in place of dental impressions. "Where the marks on Miss Caldwell had smoothed out by the time the pictures were taken, these were inflicted possibly only moments before death. Therefore, the flesh had no opportunity to return to its normal state, as it would have were blood continuing to flow."

"Why do you suppose he did it? Just to torture?"

"I've never been able to understand such things myself, though Lord knows I have seen more than my share." His grim tone grew angry, outrage in every word. "A woman's breasts, Mr. Palmer, are designed for gentle touches and stroking, for loving caresses, kisses and the occasional _lick_. They are _not_ intended to be bitten into like beefsteak." He looked down sadly to the body between them. "What was done to this poor woman is nothing short of monstrous."

x

"Why do you suppose he shot her in the … well, there?"

"We do not know – yet," he said, one finger lifted in emphasis. "But I intend to find out. But first, I want to see what evidence can be obtained from dried perspiration on Lt. Martinka's body. Last night was particularly hot and humid, even in those hills. In the first two assaults, a solution of ammonia and bleach was used to destroy any DNA evidence, but this time he shot her and had to flee immediately. I detect no odor of bleach or ammonia, I think we may get lucky. Get a specimen kit, my boy." As Palmer crossed the room to get the requested materials, Ducky reached for the woman's knees, but then paused, looking up at her white face. "I'm terribly sorry about this, my dear," he said, commiserating. "I know it's an intrusion, but it's the only way."

"Abby says Dawn Caldwell wasn't beaten," Palmer pointed out from across the room, "though Dorothy Higgins was, enough to put her into the hospital. But I understand she was not beaten so _badly_."

"No," Ducky said, pausing, grateful for the momentary hesitation, if even for so distressing a reason. "Our murderer is becoming more violent, more out of control, with every assault. It happens all too frequently that the perpetrator's personality actually fragments as his self control diminishes and thus his violence increases. My great fear is that he will follow the established pattern and strike again tonight – and Heaven help that poor woman."

xxx

"All right." Gibbs began as his team assembled in the living room of the 'rented' cottage. "What have we got?" McGee looked up from the laptop on the table before him. In the middle of that table was a three inch high plaster cast of the sole of a left sneaker. It represented their most direct clue to date.

"Lieutenant Martinka was 43 years old, and has been an Instructor at Annapolis for the past nine years. She specialized in Applied Math; ballistics, navigation, anything having to do with the mathematics of motion. Prior to that, she served on several ships before deteriorating vision barred her from active service. Since leaving the Yorktown in 1997, she could have taken a disability discharge but stayed on, being posted to Annapolis with a Masters, then Ph. D in Math.

"She was married to an Antony Martinka, no 'h', in 1983. He died in an auto accident in January, 1996.

"She enlisted in 1981; her twenty five years are actually up in three weeks. She was retiring with a full pension. She had submitted her papers prior to going on furlough on Saturday. The time share had been booked to begin then.

"She has already been hired by MIT and, looking over some of her work, I would love to have had her as a Professor. I read her Masters in 'Chaos Theory'. Brilliant; absolutely brilliant." No one mentioned it was also brilliant that, at 43, she could go another 20 years plus at MIT before 'officially' retiring with two pensions.

"What can you tell me about her that has some bearing on this _case_?" Gibbs demanded sharply, in no mood for divergence. If he wanted that, he'd call Ducky.

"I think I know why she was shot."

Gibbs waited expectantly. "Are you going to make me guess?" he demanded finally.

"No, boss; it's just that you usually …" He saw the deadly look in the man's eyes and wisely shut up. "This is not the first time she's been assaulted. Her record shows it happened about fourteen years ago while Lieutenant, then Ensign Martinka, was overseas. Apparently she fought off her attacker after leaving him unsatisfied." Tim made the mistake of pausing just then, and when he met Gibbs' eyes the latter's orbs were like lasers. "It seemed she relaxed completely, internally as well as externally, depriving him of any sensation or gratification. When he grew frustrated and careless, she fought him off."

No one said anything, but each considered that something that had worked in the past would be tried again. Sadly, the conclusion was far different.

x

"Can you get Ducky on that thing?" Gibbs asked, remembering the reservations Tim had had earlier about connection speed.

"I've already established a link with Autopsy, but the image will be jumpy. 56k is just not suitable for live stream."

"I'll live with it. Call him up." As Tim worked the controls, the rest of the team gathered behind him. It took a few seconds for a still picture of the Morgue in the lowest level of NCIS Headquarters to appear, courtesy of the camera set in the ceiling. Ducky and Palmer were on either side of a silver table upon which lay the face down body of Christine Martinka. A moment later the image was refreshed, Ducky and Palmer in slightly different positions. Seconds passed and they had moved slightly again. Gibbs looked at Tim, who shrugged helplessly.

"Ducky?" At least sound was working. When the image refreshed again, Mallard was looking up at the elevated camera.

"Ah, Jethro, right on time." The still image changed disconcertingly; this time Palmer was also looking up and Ducky had taken a step back. The computer continued to update the picture at two second intervals, the result being like watching a slide show rather than an actual movie.

"What have you got for me?"

The next image had Mallard partially turned to the body, his gloved hand over the supine woman's back. He was pointing to a spot on her lower back, but the image was too distant for them to make out any detail on the white body. The image continued to change at two seconds intervals. "Cause of death was definitely a single gunshot, the weapon inserted at least four inches into the vaginal canal." Another change. "The bullet destroyed the cervix, skimmed the uterus, and then broke through the sacrum. Abby will be able to tell us what sort of gun it was when we retrieve the bullet, which we were just about to do. The bullet," the image changed again, Ducky's hand was pointing to a spot slightly higher over the woman's body, "then exited the lumbar region, traveled almost parallel to the floor when her convulsion, doubtless in fear at the realization of what was going to happen to her, raised her upper body off the floor." The image updated, he was standing near her head. "The bullet reentered at the base of her skull, near the foramen magnum, destroyed the medulla oblongata, cerebrum and pierced the cerebellum. X-rays show it's lodged in her skull, near the crown. Death, as I said earlier, was instantaneous."

"Can you tell if there was any contraction of her muscles, or if she held herself limp during the rape?" Now Ducky was facing the camera.

"I'll let you know what I find. There is considerable vaginal tearing and bruising, plenty of evidence to display the violence of the attack. Oh, by the way, a test for DNA samples was made; the results are on their way to Abby's lab for when she gets back." When the picture changed, he had turned and his hand was over her torso. "This time, he did not have time to apply any deleterious compounds to her breasts. I also found considerable dried perspiration, mostly his I expect because there is none present except on the front of her body."

"Well done, Ducky. Keep me informed if you find anything else."

Mallard had returned his attention to the body before him. "Will do." McGee broke the disconcerting link, and they were happy to see it go.

x

"DiNozzo, what did you get?"

"Not a whole lot, boss." Tony confessed reluctantly. "The house was locked up tight, 'crime scene' tape everywhere. I could have picked the lock, but the pictures I got from outside the window were good enough. There was a northward facing window and two easterly. I didn't want to overplay my hand." He refrained from alluding to the number of times he'd broken into buildings in the course of an investigation. This time it seemed the better part of valor to be cautious. No point in putting the Troopers' backs up until they absolutely had to – and Gibbs could be the one to make that call.

"I drove into town to the hospital to try to interview the vic; but she's firmly entrenched on that river in Egypt. You know the one; De-Nile." Gibbs turned his lasers upon DiNozzo. "I tried talking to her, but she didn't want to. She wasn't raped; the bruises are because she slipped and fell getting out of the tub; you know."

"Yeah, Tony, I know," His disgust flooded the room.

"The more I asked, the madder she got, until I figured it was best to save some good will for later and get out of there. Sorry, boss."

"Not your fault." He wished it were not the same story over and over again. So far, the only one who could, or would, give them any testimony was Caldwell.

x

"What about the records from 'Magnum P.I.'?" Tony asked, watching McGee wince.

Tim bent down and drew a sheaf of computer printouts from the floor. It was the 'old time' yellow and green paper that used to be fed through a dot matrix printer, which had made a hell of a racket when spewing out the pages.

"These are listings of every resident on both lakes."

"What is this?" Gibbs asked, barely credulous. He could hardly believe McGee had limited himself only to the material that had been handed to them. "Couldn't you just find out from their computer?" He refrained from using the word 'hack'. It was illegal without a search warrant, though he had looked the other way more times than he could count when Tim pulled some essential and cryptic fact from his magic machine.

"Sorry, boss. That only works when the system is active, and their computer is turned off." He believed that Magnum suspected he might do that very thing, and had kept him out simply but very efficiently. All very justified, of course; it was after 5:00, and 'who left an office computer on all night'? He very wisely refrained from saying this, however.

"Wonderful. Technology strikes again. Well, we'll do it the old fashioned way. What do the printouts tell you?"

"They're just a list, no real breakdowns. They tell names, locations, phone numbers, occupations, not a whole lot more. It's nothing but a database with the most basic fields selected for printing." He suspected they'd need a warrant for more.

Gibbs looked out the window; it was starting to grow quite dim. When night fell, it would do so with a 'crash', like the dropping of a black curtain over everything. "All right, try again in the morning. When they boot up, get everything you think you can use."

"What about a warrant?"

"Oh, yeah, McGee," he said in an 'afterthought tone', "get one of those too while you're at it." He checked his watch. "Meantime, that 'town meeting' Magnum called will start in about an hour. I want to be there."

x

He turned to Ziva, conscious that she was restraining her impatience and not a small dose of anger. "What did you find out from Caldwell?"

"She is 'Willie Wanker'!" Ziva exclaimed angrily, glad to finally be able to vent. Tony tried desperately to keep his chortle of laughter to himself, but it was impossible. Tim hazarded a guess.

"'Wonka'?"

"Yes! Thank you. 'Wonka'. The girl is from Venus. She is the perfect choice for a teacher of kindergarten. To her, this world is all sweetness and light, and this is the first time the cruel dark has invaded her. Abby nicknamed her 'Sunshine', and the name certainly fits."

Gibbs considered her sustained anger. "Are you sure this isn't colored by her association with Abby?"

"No it's not." But then she reconsidered. "Well, maybe. The point is this woman has led an almost sheltered life. You should have seen them together. It was eerie; like watching Glinda and Elphaba. I don't know how those two could be friends."

"Who?"

Ziva looked at him incredulously. "Come on, Gibbs, the Good Witch of the North and the Wicked Witch of the West. Wizard of Oz? Do not tell me there's a cultural reference _I_ know that you all do not."

"Actually," Tim pointed out helpfully, "Glinda and Elphaba were very good friends in the beginning. The story 'Wizard of Oz' was prequeled in a new book; 'Wicked', and then they made a musical play from it."

"It was the other way around, Probie," DiNozzo said.

"I know; I have seen it." Ziva continued, ignoring DiNozzo." That's how I got 'Elphaba'. The point is, I do not see how Caldwell and Sciuto can be friends, but I will say this much: She is the perfect kindergarten teacher; all sweetness and light and patience and kindness and …" Ziva actually shuddered. "When someone like that gets hit by the big bad world, they get hit hard."

Gibbs scrutinized her closely. "What did you say?"

x

Ziva missed a beat. "I said when someone like that gets –."

"_No_, you said 'kindergarten teacher'!" The look on Gibbs' face clearly showed he wanted to smack _himself_ in the back of the head. "Abby told me too, but I put nothing to it. And Lt. Martinka teaches Math related to Ballistics and Navigation." He turned to Tim. "What does Dorothy Higgins do for a living?" McGee stared at him blankly. "What – does – Dorothy – Higgins – _do_ – for – a – _living_?" The forceful demand was projected more effectively than a shout, but by the second word McGee was frantically searching through the printout provided by the Administration office.

"She teaches Junior High History!"

"Would anybody care to guess the odds that three women, two single and one a widow but all up here on vacation alone – one for only four days before she's killed – are all _teachers_?"

"About a billion to one," DiNozzo said; his voice heavy.

"All right, next stop is that 'town meeting'. In the meantime," he turned to McGee and the printout, "find me more teachers."


	11. Town Meeting

Chapter Eleven

Town Meeting

The Club House was set on a hill above a parking lot that had room for thirty cars and was vastly overcrowded by the time Gibbs' deep blue Charger arrived. He pulled into place beyond the lot on the gravel road that went from the main lake to its subsidiary, taking his place at the head of an increasingly long line that edged the road. The four Agents took note of the number and variety of cars in this line and assembled on the packed lot as they reached and passed it. The variety ranged from carefully maintained sports cars to dirt covered trucks that had taken far too many beatings in their long, hard lives.

The only sounds about them were the perennial songs of crickets and katydids who would sing to one another all through the night. It was already quite dim, and they knew that with no lights to flood the area, when the sun already falling behind the hills in the west had set, it would be black as pitch. The Agents each carried flashlights in their pockets, knowing they would be hard pressed to find Gibbs' car, or avoid a turned ankle, without them.

They looked up at the concrete building, the first such that they had seen here, at the top of a small hill. The structure was clearly designed to take a lot of wear. Two steep dirt roads serviced it, one from the parking lot; the other from the road. The main entrance faced the lot. They ascended the hill, entered through the wide white double doors.

There was a short corridor about fifteen feet across. On their left were two bathrooms and on the right a ledge that serviced a closed refreshment area. Beyond this foyer was a huge open space. As they passed into it, they could see the near wall forty feet from where they stood, and it was eighty feet from left to right. There was an elevated stage about fifteen feet deep on their left, the focal point of scores of folding chairs that had been placed in row after row, most of which were occupied with hundreds of residents who waited with strained patience.

The club house had clearly been designed to serve a variety of purposes, from meeting hall to movie house, from Bingo hall; courtesy of the now dark board above the stage, to basketball court; the baskets of which had been pulled by ropes back flat to the ceiling, discretely out of the way. Any number of other purposes could be served, but tonight it was filled with anxious people here to discuss a horror in their midst, one that they had thought could not infect them from the 'distant' cities or even the nearest towns, but which had encroached into this quiet community to disrupt lives and fill everyone with fear.

They easily spotted Abby Sciuto sitting in the third row, off the other side of the center aisle. Aside from their familiarity with the woman, she was the only one dressed completely in unrelieved black. Gibbs noted the rather subdued blonde woman seated next to her who, dressed in white, seemed a negative image of Abby's dark aspect. Gibbs was about to step over to introduce himself when, on the stage on their left, Thomas Magnum nervously tapped a freestanding silver microphone set up center stage forward.

x

"If you could all take seats," he began uncomfortably, "we're ready to begin." He then realized that he and the NCIS Agents were the only ones not already seated, which only served to make him more uncomfortable. He waved a sharp signal to the Agents, urging them to approach the stage.

Everyone in the room could sense the man's discomfort, and his uncertain manner flowed outward to make the assembled throng equally uncomfortable. Gibbs led his team forward. As they approached the stage, Magnum knelt down on one knee, the better to avoid the unit's pickup. "Would you four join me?" The question was a notch below imploring, and Gibbs felt sorry for the man. He might be a competent Comptroller, but he was by no means a confident public speaker – especially before a crowd that might, at any moment, turn hostile.

With a look to his team, he led them up the right side staircase to four white folding chairs that had been set along the right wall. From that vantage, the Agents could pick out the two young men they recognized from the Administration Office, accompanied by another they did not know, the previously absent Joe Burke. All of them had a vested interest in this.

As his eyes met Abby's, he noticed her hands moving subtly before her. In very brief gestures, the woman signed that she had done a full forensics sweep of the Caldwell home, and had obtained nine pieces of useful evidence. Gibbs replied that he would speak to her in detail later. His were the only cryptic signals visible to the crowd, and they were subtle enough to be confused with his adjusting his jacket.

When the four 'guests' were seated, Gibbs closest to the audience followed to his right by David, DiNozzo and McGee, Magnum again turned to the microphone.

"We've called this meeting tonight…" the portly man began with a quite detectable flutter in his voice, "…because of some incidents that … well … that have been taking place in our … our community."

'This is too painful to watch.' Gibbs signaled the others with his eyes. The man was suffering major stage fright, but was gamely trying to press on. Gibbs would not interrupt. This was Magnum's presentation – for better or for worse.

"We've had some … problems lately. Just this week, rather."

The audience was becoming restive, fidgeting in their seats in sympathetic discomfort. Those who didn't already know the purpose of the meeting in gruesome detail wished he would just get on and say it.

"There have been several … incidents … incidents involving some of the women … that is, three of the women … in our … our community. The people beside me … they are Federal Agents who have been investigating … what happened."

Beside Gibbs, Ziva sighed feelingly. This was too much. "Gibbs?" she whispered.

Gibbs opened his hand toward the microphone, whispered. "That _was_ an introduction."

Ziva was on her feet, crossing the stage.

"They have come … that is, they've been sent–" Magnum felt a hand placed upon his shoulder, and turned to the dark woman who had come up beside him. She told him with her eyes what she intended, using her touch on his shoulder to gently turn him away toward her vacated seat. He moved away gratefully.

Ziva turned to the crowd, and by her initial manner they could see this was a woman who did not have stage fright.

x

"Good evening." Her clipped tones sliced through the room. The green athletic shirt she wore over black t-shirt, along with green pants, might have been military attire for the way it suited her. "I am Officer Ziva David of NCIS, the Naval Criminal Investigative Service headquartered in Washington. I'm also an Operative with Mossad, the Israeli Secret Service. With me are Special Agents Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Anthony DiNozzo and Timothy McGee. Seated in the third row before me is Forensic Scientist Abigail Sciuto. We are here to investigate the rape and murder early this morning of Navy Lieutenant Christine Martinka, as well as the rapes on Monday of Ms. Dawn Caldwell and on Tuesday of Ms. Dorothy Higgins."

It had already been decided that this was not going to be a 'routine briefing'. Those kinds of 'town meetings' Gibbs for one had no patience for. This was not going to be a series of platitudes and vague references to 'investigations'. The people here deserved to know what was going on in their midst; _had_ to know if they were going to defend themselves efficiently. Any void in the story would quickly be filled by conjecture, rumor, fearful exaggerations and imaginings.

"These three rapes, characterized by increasing levels of sadistic violence culminating in brutal murder, are believed to be the work of the same man. Methods of operation and evidence found at the scenes of the three crimes are virtually identical, ruling out even a 'copycat' perpetrator, as thus far no details have been released by the Virginia State Police." With her whip tones and piercing gaze, Ziva held each person in the room in the same way she would a first week's class of Mossad recruits.

"The victims have several things in common. Most notably they live alone; were assaulted in their homes; and most recently it has been determined that they all share the same occupation; namely that of '_Teacher'_." She watched the ripple, which had been building slowly to a wave, shoot through the crowd like a tsunami.

"While we have not yet identified the culprit, rest assured that we _will_. In the meantime, this meeting is called so that you may know these facts and take steps to protect yourselves. Since we have determined that the rapist is targeting women living alone, I ask if there are any women here tonight who live alone."

x

She waited, and after a few seconds a hand tentatively went up, no higher than to a shoulder. A few moments later another hand slowly moved, but only head high, and across the room another hand went up all the way. "Would you all please stand?"

They were even more reluctant to stand than to raise hands, but having already identified themselves they were 'trapped'. "Are there any others?" A fourth very reluctantly joined the standing women. All were of different ages and appearances. Ziva waited a few seconds more. There were no additional 'volunteers'.

"We have high hopes of resolving this quickly, but in the meantime we feel it unwise for anyone to remain alone. Is there anyone here who can assist these women?"

"Jackie?" A voice called from near the back. The second woman to raise her hand turned around. "You can stay with us."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed in vast relief, releasing pent up breath.

"Margarite?" Another voice from the left side of the room drew the attention of the fourth woman.

In quick order, all four women had secure lodging with friends.

x

"Since we've also determined this predator preys on teachers, are there any teachers in the room, either current or former?"

From near the front right corner, a slight woman stood up slowly. She was easily seventy years old. "I used to teach grade school, but that was a long time ago," she said; her practiced voice cutting through the room. She looked down at herself. "I don't think your man is going to want me."

There were a few titters about the room, more a relief of the growing tension than from any real humor. Tim recognized her from the computer printout after Gibbs' order 'find me more teachers'. She was the only one.

"Nevertheless, we want everyone to be very careful." At this, three bearded men rose from seats beside hers, and kept rising. They wore flannel shirts, well worn jeans and resembled small mountains next to the diminutive woman.

"Anyone tries to lay a hand on our grandmother," the one closest to the woman said, laying a huge hand upon her shoulder, "we'll let you have what's left."

This time the laughter was more relieved.

x

"Now comes the obligatory call for aid," Ziva quipped, though there was no humor in her eyes. "If anyone has any information on any of this, no matter how small or trivial you might consider it, please tell us." She gave the address and phone number of the cottage they were using, as well as Gibbs' cell phone number. She was gratified that enough groundwork had been laid by her presentation that many people wrote the information down.

"That is really all we can tell you at this point. We will try to answer some questions," three hundred hands shot upward, "_provided_ the answers don't compromise our Investigation." Most of the hands gradually and sheepishly lowered, but a few remained firm. "Yes?" she asked, pointing to one of the men in the ninth row.

"Are you working with State Troopers and Lake Security on this?"

Ziva turned to Gibbs, wanting him to take the questions, but he turned an upraised hand toward her, as if to say 'you're our spokesman'. She turned back to the microphone. "Yes. We are working jointly with the State Police on this matter, since there are issues such as jurisdiction to consider…."

xx

When the 'formal' meeting was over, Gibbs and his team worked the departing crowd, answering questions and giving reassurances while primarily seeking input and insight.

Ultimately, though it was an hour later and night had fallen hard in the black windows, there were only seven people left in the huge building. "Thank you," Thomas Magnum told Ziva for the second time. "I was really out of my element up there."

"Think nothing of it," she assured him. "Public Speaking is recognized as the second greatest fear any person could have."

"What's first? Death?"

"No," she answered with an evil smile. "IRS Audits."

x

Dawn Caldwell didn't want to approach, despite Abby's gentle but unremitting insistence and sustained pressure of her hand in hers. She knew these people were Abby's friends and colleagues, and that meant a lot. The men were all handsome, particularly the distinguished man with the short military haircut, but they were all so freaking _male_.

At five nine, Dawn was not short in stature or mind, but she perceived the three men as giants, and felt so tiny around them. Worse still, they were men – and there were too many around her. She felt Abby tug her hand again, and reluctantly stepped forward. She tried to forget her fear, knew these men and the other woman; whom she had at least met; were here to help, but looking at them she was scared to _death_.

But then she stopped dead, suddenly angry. That bastard had hurt her and now she was recoiling from three utterly handsome men. Last week, about to be introduced into such a smorgasbord of male pulchritude, she would have been in her element, enjoying the moment to its fullest. Now was she recoiling from men she would otherwise have been expending her best efforts with in hopes of getting a date?

No _way_!

Gripping Abby's hand more firmly, she actually took the lead, a half step ahead of her friend while her heart pounded painfully in her chest and she prayed she wouldn't faint.

x

"Gibbs, this is Dawn." Abby presented the younger woman to her boss. Gibbs noticed the forensics expert wore her favorite thin leather choker about her neck, the one generously studded with inch long sharp silver spikes, but was otherwise clothed in a casual black dress. He was glad the irrepressible young woman had shown greater discretion during the meeting.

He had to admit that at least the silver relieved the blackness of the rest of her attire, which had been a sharp contrast to her slightly pale face and red painted lips.

The blonde woman beside her was looking up at him with a mixture of apprehension at war with a need for expression, as though she were trying to force her own personality to come through over a pervasive fear.

"Ms. Caldwell," he said with a smile, deciding to turn on the charm a bit to the lovely blonde, "I've heard a great deal about you."

"Some good, I hope," she said with a forced smile that was apprehensive at first, then evolved into something mostly coquettish.

"All good," he assured her.

"I've heard a lot about you too." She took a very deep breath and actually forced the fear away.

"Some good, I hope."

She looked him over, her natural manner managing to reassert itself. She was _not_ going to crawl under a rock. "_Very_ good."

"Dawn; Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Tim McGee … and Tony DiNozzo." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial 'stage whisper'. "He's the one I warned you about."

"_Hey_!" Both women laughed. "I'll sully my reputation on my own, if you don't mind."

"Don't worry, Mr. DiNozzo. No reputations are getting sullied." Dawn was starting to relax; they could all see it. She'd been afraid, they had seen it in her eyes before she approached, but her natural manner seemed to be winning the night.

x

Dawn looked up at the tall man and decided she liked what she saw. Determined to drive the fear down, she went to the other extreme and decided her best – or her only – way to enjoy the moment was to do a bit of flirting.

She was still trying to discover herself in the wake of this nightmare, to learn who she was now, and decided to try anything tonight. After all, if these were Abby's friends, they had to be safe; didn't they? Then again, the way Tony DiNozzo was looking at her, even if he wasn't saying anything, was undermining her resolve. She did, however, remember the conversation she had had with Abby on the way in.

"Mr. DiNozzo…"

"Tony" he invited, turning the full force of his charm on her.

"Oh, I _couldn't_, Mr. DiNozzo. I was brought up to respect my elders."

"I–" He looked at her thoughtfully, a rare thing for him. "Mr. Anthony DiNozzo's my father. How old do you think I am, anyway?"

She scrutinized him closely. "Forty? Forty five? _Ever_ so much older than me; at least _twice_ my age!"

While the others derived their pleasure from this, Gibbs had to turn aside. It wouldn't do to let them see the grin that spread itself upon his face.

"I've gotta get more beauty sleep," Tony muttered.

x

"You know," Tony said, never willing to give up on a beautiful woman, "I actually find it hard to believe that our Abby would have been a baby-sitter. After all, who'd trust _her_ with their child?"

"Plenty of people, thank you very much," Abby retorted, but Tony continued as though she had not spoken.

"I picture her more like a cross between 'Chucky' and 'Problem Child'."

"I was actually more the 'Problem Child'," Dawn admitted. "She reminds me occasionally that I'm still 'grounded' by her, and that it was never lifted."

"Oh, when was that?" he asked, glancing at Abby, by his manner showing that he thought Abby should give the woman a reprieve.

"I was in High School," Dawn continued, "while she was in College. I made the mistake of telling her about something my friends and I did in the Dean's Office, and she put me on permanent 'suspension'."

"Oh, come _on_. What could _you_ have done that was so terrible?"

"Well, you see, there was the Dean's brand new Xerox machine sitting there, all innocent, and …"

"Are you going to tell me you and your friends Xeroxed your butts?" DiNozzo asked, half incredulously, half wonderingly, picturing the event.

"No, I'm no fan of broken glass in my bum."

"Well then…"

"I was a Cheerleader, so I did splits."

x

DiNozzo's mouth fell open while his eyes grew incredibly large. Without another word but with wide grins, Abby and Dawn turned, giving their attention to McGee.

He'd been on his best behavior, considering what the young woman had gone through and that she was Abby's friend - and she had torpedoed him below the waterline.

He had to give her points.

Gibbs stepped past DiNozzo and his hand came up, whacking the man in the back of his skull. "Thanks, boss," Tony muttered, feeling his stalled brain jump started.

x

While these superficial conversations had been going on Abby, on the opposite side of the group from Gibbs and far enough back to be unobtrusive, had signed a full report of her investigation to the Agent. Thus, he was well informed when he stepped up to Dawn while Abby moved in from behind.

"Ms. Caldwell, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow," he told her, attracting her attention from McGee. "There are some questions I have to ask."

Dawn was suddenly apprehensive again. She'd been using the banter to bury her discomfort, but now had nothing left to fall back upon. She found herself curling the ends of her long blonde hair with her left hand, a nervous habit she hadn't had since she was a sophomore in College, already going for her 'teacher's accreditation'; and forced herself to stop.

"Well, sir, I'm actually going home tomorrow," she told him. "I'm half packed." She tried to explain, but she had the feeling she was explaining more to herself than to him, trying to justify her 'retreat'. Abby had offered the thought of telling her parents what had happened, something she had withheld doing until she could 'deal with it', and she'd chosen to return home instead. She just couldn't face the thought of doing this by telephone.

"In the morning I'm draining the pipes and shutting everything down. Clarkston Lakes has … kind of lost its appeal."

"Well, I can understand that." Gibbs told her, visibly 'hiding' his disappointment. He'd already known all about this decision from Abby's silent 'report'.

"Maybe …" she cast a reluctant look at Abby. She did not want to answer any more questions or discuss this nightmare any further, but she tried to be understanding of the Agent's position. He was trying to help _her_. "Maybe if you come over early? I'm not getting on the road until after rush hour. Louisiana's a _long_ drive."

"I'll be spending the night with Dawn." Abby put in, much to Gibbs' lack of surprise. There was a mounting pile of evidence in her lab, to say nothing of what Ducky was still accumulating at this moment, and what Abby would have to bring back from the other cottage, but that too had been in her 'report'. "I've been up since three in the morning. If I have to drive eighty miles on the Interstate at night, the next Forensic tests will be done on _me_." She offered this as verbal 'justification' of her silent scheme, which he had already approved.

"All right." Unstated but understood between the two NCIS Agents was that Abby would use what influence she had on the younger woman to delay her departure as long as she possibly could.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen?" Thomas Magnum began with limited subtlety, considering the keys in his hand.

The groups split up with little more leave-taking, each praying that they, and the community surrounding them, would make it through a quiet night.

xx

On Abby's way to the 'batmobile', surrounded by the loud 'chirrups' of hundreds of night insects, she could hold her laughter no longer. "Thank you, Sunshine!" she enthused.

"Don't mention it," Dawn replied, hoping her friend never would again. "I really hated to do it. I hope his feelings aren't hurt too badly."

"Tony's? He's got an ego twice the size of Gibraltar, and ten times as hard. It just killed him that there were so many women there and he could not flirt with a single one. He needs to have a woman blow him out of the water."


	12. Eternal Darkness

Chapter Twelve

Eternal Darkness

When Abby and Dawn returned to the latter's house and turned off the car headlights, black night wrapped its shroud about everything. They were accompanied by the ever present crickets and katydids, who sang their songs to one another. They needed flashlights to cross from the car to the door. "I should have left a night light on," Dawn admitted.

"Don't worry; I'm perfectly at home in the dark," She quipped.

Dawn glared at Abby, unseen in the dark. "You're starting to make me nervous, 'Vampirstein'." When the door opened they were met by the enthusiastic sounds of Grieg's 'Peer Gynt Suite'.

"What, you won't leave a light on, but you'll leave the radio playing?" Abby chided teasingly.

"A sense of priority," Dawn retorted. "You have to admit 'the Hall of the Mountain King' is more impressive than 'the bungalow three blocks off the main road'."

"When do you _not_ play this?" Abby asked as Dawn turned on the kitchen light.

"Never."

"What do your students think of that?"

"They sit with their mouths hanging wide open, when they find out the Warner Brothers music wasn't composed in the 40's. I let them watch 'Bugs Bunny' or some such cartoon, have them pay attention to the music, and then I play them the real thing."

"Good call."

"My kids learn Mozart and Dvorak long before they learn Pink Floyd."

"There's something to be said about 'Def Leppard'."

"I know, but I'm a lady."

Abby laughed, vastly thankful that her friend seemed to be coming out of her doldrums, undoubtedly because she saw that something concrete was finally going to be done.

xx

There were five rooms in the house other than the bathroom in the left rear corner, most of the space taken up by the 'combined' living room and kitchen, separated by a half partition extending only half way from the front door toward the table that edged the two smaller bedrooms. There were three bedrooms, two side by side off the large living room and kitchen, a third larger one beyond the kitchen, next to the rear porch door.

The left guest bedroom opened toward the back porch, accessed by the door between the master bedroom and the bathroom. Dawn's bedroom was off the living room on the right, backed by the television. One had to exit the guest room toward the porch next to the bathroom, round about to the left through the kitchen, pass the table where they'd sat having their aborted breakfast and go through the living room to enter Dawn's bedroom. The adjoining wall was at the head of the guest bed.

Abby had already stowed the suitcase she always kept ready in the trunk of her car in the left guest room next to Dawn's. She kept the suitcase in case she had the urge to go Clubbing, or in case she got lucky after a night of clubbing.

"Sorry I don't have a coffin," Dawn told her with a grin as they stepped into the left bedroom, "but there's a sleeping bag in the closet that you could use as a body bag."

"Ha ha," she said drolly. "Get some sleep."

Dawn's grin faltered. "I'll try," she promised, not very convincingly. "Good night." She started to pull the door closed, but then came back in, drew Abby into a brief hug, having to be a bit cautious of the sharp spiked choker the dark woman wore. Without another word she closed the door and went around to her room next door.

x

Abby hoisted her black suitcase onto the bed and started to unpack it, shaking out and hanging up the clothes she intended to wear in the morning.

Finishing, she pushed the nearly full bag under the bed and started to undress. The first thing she had to remove was the spike studded leather choker she'd worn about her neck, followed by the long black dress. A few minutes later, clad in fiery red panties and a black t-shirt with a picture of Barnabas Collins – the original one – under blood red lettering that invited the unwary to 'Come see how the vampires _do it_.', she lay down on the bed, switched off the lamp beside her and shrouded the room in darkness as complete as her own coffin room.

She was asleep in minutes.

xx

"_GET OFF ME_!" The shrill scream tore through the thin wooden wall above Abby's head, brought her bolt upright on the bed. "YOU'RE _HURTING_ ME!" Abby threw the thin sheet off her body, slapping at the lamp, the room bursting into eye-searing light. "OWWW!" Abby snatched her leather choker off the night table as she leapt from the bed, wrapped the sharp spiked leather about her right fist as she ran for the door. "_STOP IT_!" The shriek burst from the room next door as Abby tore her door open, charged around the corner and past the kitchen table, the indirect light of the lamp in her room turning the blackness into dim shadows, allowing her to run to the next room, clutching the leather tightly in her hand. The sharp silver spikes radiating from it were better than brass knuckles, and they would go through the softest part of that bastard's face. "LEAVE ME _ALONE_!" She twisted the knob, slammed her shoulder into the door, burst into the room, spiked fist already drawn back.

Dawn lay upon her bed, flailing wildly at the sheet covering her, twisted in its folds.

She was alone.

From the clock radio beside her, playing softly and barely heard, Corelli's 'Concerti Grossi Op 6, #8 in G minor' formed a horrible counterpoint to her terror. Abby switched on the light.

"YOU"RE HURTING ME! _LEMME GO_!" Dawn cried wildly, panic turning her voice shrill.

"Dawn!" Abby reached out, shook the girl's shoulder hard. She was ready when Dawn woke and swung wildly. She blocked the punch with her left hand. "Wake up!"

x

Dawn came awake with a start, sit up suddenly, gasping desperately, chest heaving and heart pounding as she looked about, terrified; astonished to find Abby bending over her. "Abby?" she gasped, but as the dream followed her into wakefulness, she started to tremble. She sat on the edge of the bed, panting, her nightclothes clinging to her wet body, heart beating so hard Abby could actually hear it in the girl's heaving chest. "Damn, won't they ever _stop_?"

Abby sat down on the bed beside her friend, drew her into a hug. Dawn shook violently, her breath reduced to shuddering gasps.

"Want to talk about it?" She knew talking helped separate the dream from reality, to push it back into fantasy where it belonged.

"It's worse than the others," Dawn told her, her breath short and quaking, blue eyes haunted. Her face was still filled with fear, and she was wet from was a sheen of perspiration that made her tee shirt cling with chilling intimacy to her flesh.

"How so?"

"I never saw his face," Dawn reminded her. "In the dreams I don't see him either."

"This time?" she urged gently when Dawn wouldn't finish.

Dawn looked at her shamefully; then brought her legs up, stretching the shirt like a miniature tent, huddling inside it, her arms wrapped about her raised knees. Abby kept her right arm about her friend's shoulders, not sure what else she could do.

"There were _two_ men this time," she admitted, her voice quivering. "I'm not sure I should tell you."

"Why not?"

"You won't say anything to them, will you?"

"Who?" Now she was confused.

Her face went bright red. "Mr. DiNozzo was holding me down, holding my arms over my head while Mr. McGee…." she couldn't continue, turned away, face bright red.

"Crap," Abby whispered, stunned.

"Don't tell them, _please_."

"Never."

x

Dawn pulled out of Abby's light embrace and lay down on her side on the bed, sighing morosely, but instantly withdrew from the damp pillow and sheet. She turned the pillow over, but there was nothing she could do for the mattress, and less for the clinging and increasingly chilly nightshirt. "I've gotta get some sleep," she said longingly. "But every time I close my eyes…." She turned to Abby hopefully. "Have you got anything in your bag of tricks that'll make me sleep?"

Abby bit back a quip about 'Felix the Cat'. "That's not a good idea. The thing about nightmares is that they let you wake up. Even if I had something, you do _not_ want to be locked in a drugged stupor for the rest of the night."

"God," she sighed miserably. She got off the bed, letting the damp covering fall to the floor, and started tugging at the sheet. There was no way she could rest until everything was changed. On the quiet radio, the soft tones of Schubert's 'Symphony #8 in B minor – Unfinished' offered no comfort at all. "Why can't this just be over?"

Abby thought for a few moments, then nudged her. "Come with me."

She turned back. "Huh?"

Abby turned off the radio and walked to the door before turning and looking back at Dawn. "We're moving to the Master Bedroom." She left.

Dawn, unable to believe this sudden turn of events, reluctantly followed. When she entered the living room, Abby was standing near the closed door beyond the kitchen, illuminated only by the light from the guest room. "Are you nuts? I can't sleep in there."

"Why not?"

"It's my _parents'_ room!"

"They kept you safe."

"I _know_ – but–"

"Come on. I'll keep you safe." She turned, opened the door, stepped in and turned on the lamp. Dawn was left with no choice but to follow.

She took a step, but then turned back; reentered her own room and tugged off her damp tee shirt and panties, exchanging them for a dry set. Then she followed her surprising friend.

x

The King size bed was pressed into the corner furthest from the door. The room was lit by a lamp on the cabinet/headboard. Abby had already switched the lamp in the guest room off, and switched on a small white oscillating fan set on the corner of the dresser by the door to provide gentle circulation. She turned back as Dawn hesitantly entered. "Come on, do you want the wall or the outside?"

Dawn stared at her, unable to believe her friend. "The outside," she answered quietly, automatically, incredulously, feeling the need to be able to flee. Abby got onto the bed, moved toward the wall and looked back expectantly.

She could see longing in Dawn's eyes, longing for security and comfort and protection that she would never admit, could never speak of, couldn't bring herself to ask for. She knew that, sleeping beside her, held in comforting embrace, Dawn would feel safe. But the traumatized blonde, her long hair still hanging in darkened rivulets, couldn't bring herself to ask, so Abby made sure she didn't have to.

x

Reluctantly, and gratefully, Dawn approached the bed. She was vastly uncomfortable, but finally got herself onto the mattress, back to her friend. There was little space between them, but Abby reached out and drew her back into a hug. There was nothing sexual about the reassuring embrace, and a few moments later Dawn was able to force herself to relax.

"Don't worry, Sunshine," Abby whispered in her ear, then reached down and drew the thin sheet up over both their bodies, "you just get some sleep. Abby will protect you."

x

Twenty minutes later Dawn's body and breath relaxed enough for Abby to reach up to the headboard and turn off the lamp, plunging the room again into the blackness of the tomb.


	13. A Blast of Thunder

Chapter Thirteen

A Blast of Thunder

Twenty minutes after the last employee of the CLPOA reached his desk, Gibbs' dark blue Charger ascended the hill, turned left and slotted into one of the six remaining spaces in the elevated parking area. The sun was already high above the eastern hills, spreading its warm glow upon everything.

"You're sure about this, boss?" DiNozzo asked, hardly feeling there was a point. Everything 'clicked' so well, it would amaze him immensely if Gibbs wasn't right.

"Ya think? Our perp knows there are three women, each living alone, even one that just arrived on Saturday, all three of them teachers and you have to ask if he's in there?"

"Not really."

"Right. Even if he hacked in, the information came from that computer," he said, pointing at the building. "McGee can rule out, or trace, a hack job; which might have us looking elsewhere, but my gut says he's in there."

"The famous Gibbs gut," DiNozzo quipped. "Who can challenge that?"

"It's got a track record you'd be proud of, DiNozzo." Gibbs wouldn't openly admit that he was, though if asked he certainly wouldn't deny it either. "Ducky and Abby will let us know which one of those four did it, but I want more than that. I want the bastard to confess."

They had been over the details of the case for hours, and eliminating every conclusion left just this one. Gibbs didn't need Sherlock Holmes' credo 'when you have eliminated all the other possibilities, whatever remains, however unlikely, must be the truth.' His own credo was simpler.

He turned to include the others in the back seat. "So while McGee does the fingerprinting, I want you to watch everybody. Ziva, you're at the front door. No matter how smart this guy may think he is, when he feels the noose tighten around his throat, he'll give himself away."

x

Getting out of the car, the four Agents checked not only their guns but the other tools of their Investigation; cameras, fingerprinting kit, sketch pad and assorted minutia. On DiNozzo's sketch pad, among other things, was an imprint obtained from the plaster cast safely packed in a strongbox in the trunk. Gibbs wasn't about to take any chances with their most valuable piece of evidence.

Each wore their gold shields displayed at their belts. Today was not a day for subtlety. Today was a day for getting answers.

When they entered the cottage they found all four men working at their desks. Gibbs had especially asked last night that on this Thursday morning all four be present, so the Agents could accomplish their investigation in the most efficient manner. Thomas Magnum stood up to meet them. "Good morning madam, gentlemen. Did you sleep well?"

"As well as can be expected," Gibbs answered. A night without any incidents would be a good one for him. He only _hoped_ that it had been a quiet one.

"How goes the Investigation?"

"That's why we're here," he replied as he led his fellows into the employee section beyond the partition counter. Though McGee and DiNozzo accompanied him, David stayed out front, leaning casually on the counter, making it entirely obvious that she stood closest to the front door.

A brief look about showed no changes to the office since yesterday, not that they had expected any. The air conditioner was still off, as the weather hadn't grown particularly warm yet. All the windows were open from top and bottom, both panes in the center, providing sufficient ventilation. The computer on Magnum's desk was on. McGee's search program was running invisibly from the laptop in the rented cottage.

Though Gibbs addressed Magnum, his attention was as much on the three younger men at the other desks; particularly the one in the forward left desk, who hadn't been present the day before. Sam Essman and Mike Parale were already known; the last, Joe Burke, was a younger man still, about 5'11", 170 pounds, with wiry black hair and a drawn expression. In fact, none of the men were comfortable around the four Investigators. All three were apprehensive, perhaps equally so. Essman, in particular, kept his eyes darting in what he obviously thought was an inconspicuous manner among the four Agents.

As they passed near the large map set upon the wall, Gibbs took note of the footwear on Essman and Burke, as well as Magnum. None of them were wearing sneakers. There would be time to check Parale, whose desk was to the far rear behind Burke's. Parale's eyes flickered toward the door leading to the rest of the cottage. He'd tried not to be noticed, but the Agents missed nothing.

"We've got quite a bit of evidence that will lead us to the suspect, but we want to begin here," Gibbs told Magnum. As he spoke, McGee proceeded to set up a small fingerprinting kit on the corner of Magnum's desk, closest to the map. "We want to compare your fingerprints to those we have, to rule each of you out as suspects."

"Well, I have nothing to hide," Magnum said. "We've each been in the Lieutenant's time share, checking things over during the winter, but I doubt you need comparisons from lamps, inner locks, inner windows and so forth."

"No." He glanced around at the others, moving only his eyes. "We have evidence from the rapes themselves. Our suspect _thought_ he was smart, but he made a lot of mistakes."

All this was carefully planned to undermine the confidence of the men, if the guilty party was actually in their midst. His words were indeed having effects, but upon all of them. Was it possible that they had ….

No, it was no time to leap to unsubstantiated conclusions. Only one of the men was guilty. It was only a matter of narrowing that one down.

Conversely, there was always the chance they were all innocent, but Gibbs' gut told him otherwise. Still, there was the possibility that the records could have been 'hacked' in the same way Gibbs had ordered McGee to do, in which case the four were just showing understandable apprehension based on Gibbs' plan to make each of them shake down to their shoes.

If such was the case, it was better to rule them out now.

"Okay," Magnum said, offering his hand to McGee. As the Agent proceeded to fingerprint the man, rolling his inked fingertips onto two pieces of stiff paper held in a tray, Gibbs subtlety watched the others. DiNozzo and David were not so subtle.

As McGee finished, the front door next to Ziva swung open, and Abby Sciuto stepped in. "Hi, Gibbs; everyone." Dawn Caldwell followed her in. Gibbs glared at her – he didn't like surprises. "Look, I know we said we'd see you later, but–"

xoxoxoxoxoxox

Five minutes earlier, a green Impala parked next to Gibbs' blue Charger, and Dawn Caldwell turned off the motor, cutting off Desprez's 'Missa Pange Lingua' in mid-Sanctus. "I'm sorry," she told her friend for the tenth time. "I know I said I'd wait, but I can't stand one more minute in that house. I had to do it."

"I understand," Abby said in a carefully neutral voice, also for the tenth time. The trunk and rear seat were stuffed with the younger woman's luggage, all she had brought with her for a summer vacation alone. She was _not_ coming back.

Abby, unable to get her friend to change her mind, had at least managed the compromise of having Dawn fly back home, lay over at her apartment in Washington before catching her flight back to Louisiana. She would return the car to the local Hertz office at the airport. In the meantime, they could accomplish what Gibbs had wanted, more detailed evidence gathering and testimony. Additionally, Dawn wouldn't need to be alone in a hotel at the airport before her flight.

Dawn reached for the door handle, but then withdrew her hand. "I don't know how I let you talk me into this," she muttered, looking down at herself. She was dressed in a light pink halter that was tied below her breasts, but with no upper buttons it left a gap of four inches between her shapely breasts, providing an altogether too generous view. The blue hot pants she was wearing barely felt like they covered anything at all. "_This_ is the kind of stuff I was wearing when he–"

"They're your clothes," Abby interrupted, reminding her firmly. "You packed them."

"_Yeah_, for sunbathing in the back yard or strolling through town, seeing if I can find someone I'd like to spend an afternoon, or more, with on my first summer without mom and dad here. Now I just feel _naked_!"

"What can I say? These are what you wanted to wear up here." She wouldn't ease the pressure on her friend, having grown more irritated with her by the hour.

"Not anymore. Now I prefer to cover up, use a bit more decorum. If I'd been dressed more appropriately on Monday –."

"That's _crap_ and you know it!" Abby exploded, not about to let her fall back upon disproven fallacies. "Besides, remember we've found out this guy's targeting teachers. It's as much to say you wouldn't have been raped if you didn't teach kindergarten." She saw the sudden speculative look in Dawn's eyes. "Think it and I _will_ slap every tooth out of your mouth! You love those kids as much as they do you."

Dawn looked away from her friend, staring out the windshield for several seconds, unable to deny the truth and not wanting to hear it.

"Can we just not fight?" Dawn implored.

"Sure. And if you'd rather stay covered from head to toe for the rest of the summer – or the rest of your life – I've got a Nun's habit I could lend you." Dawn turned to her, astonishment overcoming her embarrassed annoyance, but Abby gave her no time to ask. "Look, every time you change your routine or your lifestyle or how you dress or anything else, that bastard wins. The only way to take back your life is to take it back. Look at me."

"Kind of hard not to," Dawn quipped, looking her friend over. The twin pigtails and black lipstick the blonde woman was fairly used to, but in addition to a sharp spike studded black leather choker about her throat, she wore a black tee shirt emblazoned with a silver coffin at the level of her breasts, above which was printed in blood red letters 'Would you like to see what's under the lid?'

Abby had told her that she kept several changes of clothing in her convertible, either for when she went out 'clubbing' or for when she 'got _lucky_ at clubs'; but Dawn had never expected the extent of the 'preparation'.

Below a pair of black leather shorts that were actually briefer than Dawn's, black fishnet stockings were held up by an inch of blood red garter straps that disappeared provocatively into the shiny leather shorts to a scarlet garter belt she wore under her panties. Black calf high leather boots, polished to a mirror sheen, hugged her legs. She'd put the fishnet stockings, this time a more provocative style, on when she knew she was going to encounter Tim McGee one last time up here. "I don't let _anyone_ dictate what I like to wear."

"I'll say." Dawn thought about it, and finally couldn't hold back from asking. "All right, what _is_ under the lid?" The tee shirt was designed in two layers, a top over-layer bearing the lettering and the 'lid' of the coffin, the rest of the coffin printed on the bottom half of the shirt. Abby tucked her fingers under the upper layer and lifted the lid.

"_**Abby**_!" Dawn exclaimed with a shriek of astonished laughter. Along with a _very_ generous swell of feminine pulchritude, she could see two double curved spots of lighter flesh, almost like the tops of two hearts, offsetting the normally pink, now tanned, flesh surrounding them. The 'lower' shirt _barely_ covered the tips of her nipples, but not the pinker surrounding areolas. Abby lowered the 'lid' again, adjusting the fit of the two halves.

"Absolutely _no one_ tells me what I can and cannot wear," she maintained emphatically. "_No one_ takes my life away from me, and no one should take yours."

Dawn stared at her, trying to come up with something to say to justify her 'choice', but finally gave up. She wrenched the handle up, shoved the door open. "Let's just get this over with," she muttered.

x

Closing the car, they walked toward the Administration building, but after a second Abby paused, causing Dawn to walk alone ahead of her for a few steps before she stopped and turned around. Abby looked her over, appraising her from head to toe; the brief pink halter and briefer denim 'scorch' pants withheld no secrets at all. "_Damn_, you're one sexy bitch," she said with a grin.

"Will you _stop_?" Dawn implored, blushing deeply. She knew what her friend was doing, appreciated it, but was unable to endure it. There was already another car coming up the slight incline from the main road, and Dawn absolutely did not want to feel any more on display. "I'm freaked out enough. Let's get this over with so we can get on the road, okay?"

"Okay. I'll give my keys to Tim; he'll drive the 'Batmobile' back home for me." They continued, Abby leading Dawn to the door. When she opened it, Ziva stood near the door, Gibbs, Tony and Tim were near the front desk to their right, near a huge map of the two lakes. Everybody looked toward the door as the astonishing pair entered.

"Hi, Gibbs; everyone," She saw her boss' face darken and spoke quickly to head him off. "Look, I know we said we'd see you later, but–"

x

Already shaken to his core by Gibbs' words, the Jew slut's presentation last evening that had lost him a perfect cunt – even if she wasn't a teacher, the supply of which had been exhausted – when she had run away to stay with friends; and the prospect of being fingerprinted, Joe Burke thought desperately about the pistol at the small of his back, and of his chances for escape. When he saw the blonde twat from Monday, looking like she had that afternoon, come in with the NCIS whore, he knew he was doomed!

x

Dawn, glancing about the room, felt her eyes drawn to the desk in front of her, to the stranger's expression of panic. She had never seen his face before –not even that afternoon – but at his panicked withdrawal she _knew_.

Her piercing shriek was the signal for bedlam.

x

Burke bolted from his chair, running for the rear door. DiNozzo, in his way but distracted for an instant by the startling screech, couldn't get into position in time and was knocked aside to slam into the wall. Burke was gone before the scream ended; McGee and DiNozzo, Sigs drawn, already charging after him.

Gibbs took a step to pursue; but Magnum stopped him. "His car's out front!" Brushing past the startled man, he ran for the front door as Abby shoved Dawn out of the way and Gibbs and Ziva burst out of the building. The entire calamity took less than eight seconds before the latter pair leapt off the low porch, running for the parked cars; but it was already too late.

Burke had reached the cars first, panic fueling his speed, but there was a woman and a young girl, no more than ten, coming toward him from their car. He aimed his frantic charge headlong into the woman, slammed her off her feet as he grabbed the child, yanked her to him and turned to meet his pursuers.

Holding the girl aloft, he put the barrel of his gun to her head as Gibbs and Ziva angled wide to cut off his escape as Tim and Tony reached the lot from the side of the building, taking positions far enough apart to prevent interfering with each other. The four Agents blocked Burke off in a wide arc, all sighting down their guns to his head.

x

"Back off!" Burke screamed, pressing the gun harder to the terrified girl's head as she screamed and her panicked mother, still on the ground, cried out, reaching for her daughter. "Stay away!" He yelled, jerking the small girl's body about to keep her between himself and the widely separated Agents, gun pressed to her head as she cried loudly.

"Put the gun down," Gibbs, furthest to his left, commanded him. Ziva was eight feet to Gibbs' left, DiNozzo further away and McGee completing the arc, all guns trained on Burke's head. This would not be a body shot. With a hostage in danger of death; if any of them got a clear target, this was to kill.

"NO! You put _your_ guns down or I blow this kid's head off!" She cringed at his shout. Her mother, still on the ground, was too scared for her child's life to try to snatch her to safety. Burke twisted sharply, whirling the child's body with him, using her as a human shield against the four surrounding Agents, twisting back and forth in an effort to block all four of the widely spaced Agents. He kept the child's head close to his own.

"Put it down, son," Gibbs commanded compellingly, sighting down his gun at the young man's head, but the target was moving so suddenly, so jerkily, that Gibbs couldn't get a clear shot past the child's head. "No reason we can't all walk away from this."

"No way!" Burke shouted. "You let me go or this kid's _dead_." The woman on the ground screamed piteously. "SHUT UP!" he yelled at her. "SHUT UP!" He twisted again to block DiNozzo and McGee's aim, but then had to move to block Ziva and Gibbs, the child's body thrown about like a rag doll by the sharp twists as he used her to block the two men on his right again.

Gibbs noted, out of the corner of his eyes, that Magnum, Essman and Parale were on the porch, Abby beside them, riveted by the drama. He knew she would prevent the others from interfering, leaving him free to concentrate on Burke. "Give it up, son. You can't win." The man turned to him so sharply the child's body was flung violently.

"Back off!" Burke yelled, making the girl wince and whimper in panic as he moved again to block McGee and DiNozzo.

"Not going to happen."

He swung the girl back. "I'll _kill_ her. I swear I'll kill her!"

"Our way you get a lawyer, your day in court and a chance to bargain. Kill her, and we blow you to Hell."

"NO. Put those guns down, I drive out of here with the kid – or I blow her away now! You got three seconds! Three!" He pressed the gun harder to the child's head as she and her mother both shrieked in panic. "Two!_ One_!"

"Put 'em up!" Gibbs commanded his team, raising his own gun skyward, the others doing the same.

This was a bluff they dared not call.

Burke pressed the gun harder to the girl's skull, his finger tightening on the trigger. "_Zero_!"

Gibbs brought his gun down but it was far too late.

x

The explosion echoed through the hills like thunder as the skull exploded in a wash of red blood and the mother's piercing shriek seared itself onto Gibbs conscience, where it would haunt him through all eternity. The child's body fell to the ground, driven to the side, bathed in gore, Burke going down as well.

The woman crawled forward, wailing hysterically, clutched and dragged the blood drenched body of her daughter away from him and they clung to each other, weeping in terror and relief.

The shaken Agents, having been an instant away from the worst horror of their collective lives, stared down at the crumpled body of Joseph Burke. He lay on his back, staring up at the sky, the left side of his head covering the ground in a red and viscous splatter, a wide pool of blood spreading rapidly. The bullet had entered over his right ear to blow his head apart from crown to left earlobe.

Gibbs looked questioningly at the two men far to his left. DiNozzo met his eyes and shook his head. McGee swallowed hard. "Not me, boss."

x

In the quiet that had followed the thunderous explosion, punctuated only by weeping, Abby Sciuto's voice was as penetrating as it was quiet. "Gibbs? Gang?" They turned to her, but she was looking to her left, beyond the front door to where the long barrel of a rifle protruded from the open window. Through the open portal they could see a pale face framed by long blonde hair.

As Gibbs and DiNozzo started to approach, going past the utterly shocked employees clustered on the porch staring at the corpse of their friend, Abby entered the building. Dawn Caldwell stood motionless at the window, sighting down the telescopic attachment on the rifle that had been secured nine feet above the floor, and which was now steadied upon the top of the lowered upper window. There was a chair pushed under the spot where the gun had been mounted.

"Dawn?" Abby spoke so softly she could barely hear herself; but very, very slowly Dawn straightened, took a slow step back. The rifle slipped off its rest on the window and out of her nerveless fingers to fall with a loud clatter to the floor. "Dawn?"

She didn't move, didn't react; she barely breathed. Abby was aware of a growing crowd behind her, aware that Gibbs was closest to her. Slowly, heartsick, Abby approached her friend, gently took her arm and turned her. Dawn was staring straight ahead, eyes unfocused, her face utterly blank, deep in shock. "Oh, Sunshine," she grieved, fighting back tears her friend couldn't shed. She looked back at Gibbs, but there could be no comfort from him.

She turned back, searching the woman before her for any trace of her friend. Dawn's eyes were blank. "Dawnie, I am so _sorry_," she whispered; her voice breaking. She drew the girl closer, gently kissed her left cheek, a long lingering touch filled with soul-sick grief. Then she stepped back, gaze locked on the cheek she had kissed, drew back her hand and slapped her as hard as she could.

x

The sharp 'crack' reverberated in the room as Dawn's head snapped to the side; then she was back in the room with them, looking with astonished shock at her friend as she held her stinging, reddening cheek. Then the searing pain consumed her soul, horror more poignant than any she'd ever imagined.

Both women clung to one another, weeping soul wracking sobs of grief; Dawn with the horror of what she had been forced to do to protect that child, and for a revenge she could never deny wanting; Abby for the purity of innocence lost forever in a wash of tainted blood.

xxx

Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Timothy McGee spread the large white sheet from the trunk of the blue Charger over the body where it lay in the parking lot. Such was the copious volume of blood lost in a head shot, always the goriest of wounds, that it was immediately stained bright red.

Gibbs felt no regret for the death of the monster. If anything, Burke had gotten off far more cleanly than anything Gibbs would have chosen.

There was work to do, and he would bury himself – and his team – in that. There was the usual collection of evidence and photos, the 'establishment' of the scene; there was 'mop up' work to do, though he was sure a search warrant of the man's home and car would turn up the tape, the latex gloves, the condoms with which he'd thought to cheat forensics and the phony teeth that were the mark of his sickness.

Results of Ducky's examination; now put on 'slo-mo' following his call to NCIS HQ; along with everything the State Police had on the first two cases, would close the book on this nightmare.

His report, and those of his team, would serve to exonerate Dawn Caldwell, at least legally. The first principle of use of 'deadly force' was that it was considered justified only to save one's own life or that of a third person. So his report would read, so the State Police would hear. With the testimony of ten eyewitnesses all bearing the tale of how there had been no choice in that final climactic moment, he doubted she would face arrest.

No. The penalty Dawn Caldwell would suffer she suffered right now, and would continue to suffer for the rest of her life. That was the fate of people of conscience.

x

Hearing the door to the white building open, he turned to see Abby Sciuto steadying her pale friend down the steps, guiding her to her car, shielding her from the sight of the white shrouded corpse with her own body. There would be no leaving for her now, at least not until the State Police formally declared the case closed. Gibbs had managed only a small concession.

Through a series of calls to NCIS Director Jenny Shepherd, then from her onward to Virginia's main Police HQ and thence to the local barracks, he'd managed to arrange for Dawn to go to Washington for a brief stay, in the 'custody' of NCIS as a 'material witness' in the murder of Lt. Christine Martinka. Rather than flying back to Louisiana, she would stay with Abby until her family could fly up, and then the three would return to Clarkston Lakes to face the inevitable heartache.

It was stretching the law and jurisdiction beyond the breaking point, but Gibbs did it anyway. He'd laid out a lot of 'markers' for this, but he was willing to do so in the name of friendship.

He had to wonder how things would have been different if he had followed his initial impulses and cared less about 'jurisdiction'.

x

He watched Abby ease Dawn into the green Impala's passenger seat, then go around to let herself in. Abby looked up to him with a smile and a wave, neither of which were cheerful. He could only bring himself to nod in return.

"I guess we'll never really know." He heard Tim mutter from behind him, and turned around.

"What was that?"

McGee looked up from the shroud. "I was just thinking out loud, boss. I was thinking we'll probably never really know now why he was targeting teachers."

Motivation? Why teachers?

Gibbs thought of the woman and child in a rear room of the building behind them with Ziva and Tony, awaiting whatever meager aid the 'Rescue Squad', Police and others might provide to 'help' them through their trauma; as well as of the three shocked and appalled men who had to live with the fact that one of their own had orchestrated this tragedy. He looked at the green Impala pulling out behind him, at the blonde beauty who kept her face hidden in her hands so she could not see the bloody sheet. He thought about Dorothy Higgins lying alone on her hospital bed and Christine Martinka inside one of Ducky's morgue coolers, and then turned back to McGee.

"You know what, McGee? I don't _care_."


	14. Bete Noir

Epilogue

Bete Noir

Dawn Caldwell couldn't sleep in the darkness of the tomb that was her friend's apartment so finally, after what felt like half the night lying awake on the black couch, she got up,. She lit the small candle in the holder on the table beside the couch and, in the sphere of light penetrating the blackness, made her way from the living room to Abby's bedroom.

She felt scandalously naked, even alone in the room, as the brief silken 'babydoll' lingerie fluttered about her body. The breath-thin pink wisp of silk teasingly brushed her bare body, and the barely present panties that tied in pink bows at either hip seemed an afterthought – or barely a thought. She'd brought them from home in Louisiana in the hope, or at least possibility, that she might get 'lucky' and have a chance to use them while on her own for the summer. She wouldn't have put them on tonight, but when Abby saw them in her luggage she'd insisted, calling it an 'indulgence in femininity'. Right now, as the barely hip length material fluttered about her, she just felt naked.

x

Opening the door, which creaked melodramatically as it slowly swung inward, Dawn saw the silver coffin resting on a waist high stand within, just as it was the other night, except closed now. At each end there stood a three tiered candelabra, all three tall white candles on each burning with a tiny light that barely penetrated the blackness.

She hadn't seen the coffin in use the other day, had convinced herself that it was actually a trick bed, or maybe Abby used a futon she hadn't noticed to sleep on and the coffin was just a prop for atmosphere. But if this was 'atmosphere', it was good; though she thought the six burning candles were a little over the top.

Now, standing in the room, staring at the coffin, she still could not believe that her friend actually _slept_ in there. More so, she'd confided that on at least one occasion she'd had _sex_ in there, with the tall handsome Tim McGee.

Well, she couldn't fault her friend for that choice, even if her choice of bed was totally the weirdest thing on the planet.

x

Overcome by morbid curiosity to see if Abby actually _was_ inside or playing a huge practical joke, she stepped into the room, feeling the blasted non-material flutter about her, touching her with teasing strokes like butterfly's wings.

Putting down the candle on the stand at the 'head' of the coffin, its light adding to the glow of the other six, she put her hands on the lip of the lid and slowly lifted.

'Thank God it's oiled.' She thought gratefully, for had it creaked she might have dropped it. Pushing it up and back, she looked down into the coffin. Her heart seized up in her chest and her voice dropped to a strangled whisper.

"Oh – Holy – Mother – of – God!" she breathed a word in each frantic pant, felt her gasps coming faster as she clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to muffle her breaths to keep from hyperventilating, her heart pounding in her chest.

It was _true_.

x

Abby Sciuto lay on her back, clothed in a long white funeral shroud, hands crossed upon her stomach, the picture of repose. She was completely motionless, so deeply asleep that she didn't even seem to be breathing.

"Holy – Mother – of – God!" Dawn panted again, her breath coming fast even through her hand. She'd been sure she'd been teased. Her lively friend Abby was _sleeping _in a God-forsaken _Coffin_. "Holy – fucking – mother – loving – _shit_!"

Suddenly Abby's eyes snapped open, fixed on hers, and Dawn's pounding heart seized up in her chest; for Abby's eyes were not green, but bright _red_.

As she stared, terrified, Abby's hand flashed out and grasped her wrist in a crushing grip, holding her fast as she sat up, and Dawn's heart burst from her chest as Abby's mouth opened, revealing a pair of long sharp _fangs_!

She shrieked, trying desperately to pull away from that bone-crushing grip as Abby pulled her close, reeling her in hand over hand up her arm until her right hand came up and grasped the filmy material of the negligee, ripped it away as though it were tissue. Dawn kept screaming and struggling, unable to break Abby's grip as the Goth Princess grabbed her other arm high by her shoulder and pulled her close, pulled her chest close.

Abby looked up at her friend with an unholy grin, her long sharp fangs gleaming even as she held her tightly, her glowing red eyes burning with hellfire. Her teeth closed hard into Dawn's left breast.

The agony was far more intense than when Burke had bitten her so many times. Dawn shrieked, felt the fangs stab deep into her breast like twin knives, drawing a wash of blood as Abby began to suck.

x

Dawn screamed over and over, flailing her arms wildly, kicking desperately, but still the hands pinned her, clutching her arms tightly. "Dawn! Dawn, honey, wake up! It's okay, you're safe, _wake up_!"

The urgent words finally broke through and she stopped fighting. "Dawn, its okay, sweetheart - you're dreaming. Wake _up_!"

She opened her eyes, finding the room brightly lit, finding herself still on but partially fallen off the black couch. Abby bent over her, clutching her arms in an effort to keep her from hurting herself. Her eyes were not red, but green; she had no fangs in her mouth and, far from wearing a funeral shroud, she was in a black tee shirt upon which were depicted the ribs and spine of a skeleton, a red heart on the left side of the ribcage, the pelvic bones reproduced on skimpy black panties.

Dawn looked down at herself, unable to stop panting, her heart pounding wildly. She wasn't wearing lingerie, but a tee shirt and terrycloth shorts. Her breast wasn't bleeding. Though both did still hurt; it was the lingering though slowly fading pain from her assault on Monday, three days and a lifetime ago.

She barely heard, from the radio on the standalone bookshelf that split the room, the formerly calming tones of Mozart's 'Concerto for Oboe and Orchestra in C-minor'. It was no help for her shattered nerves. She was gasping too hard, her heart racing in her chest so fast, pounding so hard it hurt as she shivered in cold sweat that drenched her body.

Abby sat down, drew her close. Dawn hid her face in Abby's chest, trembling violently, her body thrumming with terror, her heart slamming so hard that Abby could hear it. The woman's shuddering breath was hot on her chest.

"The nightmares keep coming!" she whispered, trembling in terror, unable to hold back bitter tears. "They keep _coming_. I can't _stand_ it anymore! _Why_ won't they stop? _Why_ won't they _stop_?"

Abby had no answer.

x

For a long time Dawn was quiet, trying to control her breath. But as the terror too slowly faded, it was replaced by something far worse.

"I – murdered him," Dawn said into Abby's chest. "I _murdered_ him."

"Dawnie –."

"No. I can't stop thinking about it. I took the rifle down because he was going to hurt Catherine; I wanted to stop him. I put the gun on the window to hold it steady, I lined it up – and I _murdered_ him."

"You didn't have any choice," Abby told her firmly. Dawn pulled back; her eyes, wet with tears, fixing on her. "We've talked about this ten times. Ten _times_."

"I _know_!" She wanted to cry out, to yell, to scream, but emotion tore away her voice. "But it doesn't mean anything. Your boss and his report, your friends; they might keep me out of jail and I'm grateful – but I _murdered_ him."

"Did you have a choice?" Abby demanded, unable to endure any longer this recurring torment of guilt. "Did you have a second left?" She'd been through this ten times, trying to press reason into the woman. Ten times. And still it always came back to this.

"No," she admitted.

"Did you have a shot that would have stopped him from pulling that trigger? He was _going_ to kill her."

"I know." Her voice was buried in inexpressible emotion.

"Did you have a choice?" Every time she'd done this, she'd wrung a series of 'no's' from her friend.

"No."

"Could you have saved her any other way?"

"No. I don't know. No."

"Did you want him dead?"

"_Yes_!" Dawn cried, surprising her. Every other time, it had been 'no'. She drew back, her wet face a bitter mask of agonizing guilt. "I wanted him _d__ead_. He hurt me, ruined my life, made me afraid of everyone and everything and I aimed that rifle at him and I wanted him dead. _But I didn't want to kill him_! I had to stop him, he'd counted to 'one' and everyone stopped aiming their guns at him except me and he yelled 'zero' and he was going to kill Catherine and I was aiming at his head because I couldn't aim anywhere else the way he was throwing her around and no place else would stop him in time from shooting her so I pulled the trigger and I _murdered_ him! I – murdered him. He hurt me – he didn't have to hurt me – I never did _anything_ to him – and then I had to murder him!

x

Abby didn't know what to say. She'd used up all her ideas in the ten times they'd been over this, but Dawn could not stop coming back to this same place.

She drew her friend close, held her, not knowing what else she could do, knowing there was nothing she could do.

There was no reason for any of this nightmare – that was Abby's firm belief. No reason at all. Tim, in gaining access to Burke's personal records, would probably be able to answer his own lingering question 'why teachers'. He'd probably discern a motive – somewhere. She knew he would keep at it until he had an answer to the puzzle.

Personally, she didn't give a damn.

x

"She thanked me," Dawn said miserably, painful guilt causing her to admit this for the first time. She'd wanted to forget it, but the memory tore at her soul.

"Who did?"

"Mrs. Middleton. She thanked me for saving Catherine. She thanked me for saving her daughter's life. She thanked me and I just wanted to die. I'd just _murdered_ a man and she _thanked_ me.

"How can I atone for that?" Dawn drew back, looking up at Abby, her soul crushed under the unendurable weight of guilt. "Tell me. Please _tell_ me! How can I atone for that?" The tears she'd worked so hard to restrain broke through as she begged with shattered breath: "Please, Abby. Please tell me. _Please_. How can I atone for that?"

Dawn fell upon her, sobbing, clinging desperately to her friend. Abby held her and had no answer. She knew that only those with more skill than she had could find a way to ease this pain, this guilt. She knew that it was only through the aid of professionals of spirit and mind that Dawn had a chance to find healing.

Abby Sciuto held her weeping friend close, Dawn's body racked by violent torrents of grief that ripped her soul, longing to offer comfort she didn't know how to give, that could never be given. Hugging the woman as she cried, she couldn't spare a hand to wipe away the tears that trickled down her own cheeks.

_Fin_.


End file.
